


Black Wife

by FakeName13



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-09-08 11:03:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 112
Words: 120,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8842144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FakeName13/pseuds/FakeName13
Summary: Someone is killing the nobles. The police have no leads. The only witness is a bitter, sarcastic maid with first-hand experience in the Underworld, which makes Ciel Phantomhive promptly snap her up...through a demon's contract. In order to fulfill his young Master's orders, Sebastian Michaelis is forced to marry a human woman--worse, a human woman who absolutely hates him.





	1. Part One:

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This story contains numerous OCs.
> 
> Some information may be historically inaccurate.
> 
> I own nothing.

                Someone is killing the nobles.

 

Nobody knew who.

 

                So the Queen’s Guard Dog was brought in.

 

Ciel, Earl of Phantomhive, frowned at the papers and files that had been sent in. In less than a month, six nobles had been killed with no witnesses and seemingly no evidence. The killer didn’t seem to care who was killed; everyone was a target, as long as they were an aristocrat: counts, earls, dukes, viscounts, marquises, ladies, lords…Every noble was a target, even himself. And with no witnesses, well…Ciel was at a loss.

 

                The crime scenes were just as varied as their victims. There had been a murder at a ballroom, a murder at a restaurant, a murder in an alleyway, a murder in a theatre, a murder in a street…All places where someone should have been seen, where there should have been at least one witness. The weapons were all different too: a knife, a gun, poison…This case made it painfully obvious that there were many ways to kill someone, a fact made doubly clear especially as the Earl of Phantomhive could be a possible target.

 

                “What do you suggest?” Ciel asked Sebastian Michaelis, his butler. “Isn’t there anything that you can do?”

 

                Sebastian shook his head.

 

                “In most cases such as this one, I would recommend to put you in deliberate danger, but with such murderers as these…”

 

                “…Not only would I probably die, you probably wouldn’t see the murderer yourself,” Ciel finished and sighed. “So what do we do?”

 

                “We should wait for the Yard to contact us with evidence, or the Undertaker with information on the bodies.”

 

                “But we can’t wait forever! The nobles are bound to rebel sooner or later for their safety, and even the Queen is at risk.” Ciel shuddered at the thought of the Queen being murdered and him being unable to prevent it. “Go and find a witness or two.”

 

                Sebastian resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

 

                “My Lord, might I remind you that you’ve sent me out for the past three nights searching for a witness.”

 

                “And?”

 

                “And the answer is the same. I still haven’t found anything or anyone.”

 

Ciel was silent, thinking.

 

                “Do you suppose that…the murderer…isn’t…human?” He mused.

 

                “It’s possible,” Sebastian admitted. “But based on the lack of evidence, I can say nothing with full confidence.”

 

                “So we have to have a witness,” Ciel sighed. “A competent witness who can provide us with evidence. That or we need evidence, which we don’t have, because Scotland Yard is incompetent and the Undertaker hasn’t discovered anything that nobody knows already.”

 

                The situation seemed bleak; forget bleak, it seemed hopeless. These crimes seemed to be too good, too skilled, too well-thought out. It must have been a criminal mastermind to plot them and continue with them. Ciel Phantomhive flipped through the files again. He didn’t know where else to look. He had looked most everywhere: investigated the Yard, the victim’s families, the crime scene…Where else was he to search? Where else could he find information? He was looking his hardest already!

 

                As is so common, the answer to all of his problems was directly in front of him. As a human, he was blind to it. But he would find the solution soon enough. It was close to him. In fact, he would be meeting it in less than a week.


	2. Chapter 2

If someone had asked Eleanora Black what she wanted in life, she would have said something along the lines of:

“Nothing much. Just a well-built house in a scenic countryside, far away from people with good relations with the neighbors.”

If someone had asked, “what about children?” she would have answered, quite snappishly,

“What about children?”

If someone had mentioned a husband, she would have said,

“Husbands are worse than children. A kid’s not going to lie to you and cheat on you and take your money and then run off with some whore three months after the wedding.”

Eleanora Black did not have an optimistic view on people.

But it didn’t matter anyway, because nobody really asked Eleanora anything, let alone what she wanted. She didn’t mind so much; she was usually too busy to bother with silly questions anyway. If someone had asked her the above questions just out of the blue, she would probably have looked at them and said,

“…Wut?”

Then she would have said something telling them to back off and stop asking her stupid questions.

Eleanora did not have much of an optimistic view on people, but one could forgive her that, because she didn’t have much of an optimistic life.

Her parents had died shortly after she was born, forcing her to jump around orphanages in the most destitute parts of town, where she learned several valuable life lessons that she had never forgotten:  
1\. Life sucks.  
2\. Then you die.

There were others, of course, but the first two were the ones that Eleanora constantly remembered. When she was about ten, she had been able to sneak into a Barnardo’s home, where she learned how to cook and clean and sew and shut up—all the essentials for becoming a maid. She graduated at eleven and was promptly snapped up by an old prosperous French lady—the one who had really named her Eleanora.

“Ma chère dame,” she would say, “vous êtes plus belle que les étoiles et un jour vous allez rencontrer un bel homme qui vous aime tendrement et puis vous marier et vivre heureux pour toujours.”*

Then Eleanora would nod and curtsey and offer more tea.

The old French lady was the only one who had ever been really kind to Eleanora. She was the one who had taught her how to speak other languages, cultivated her artistic skills, applauded her singing. She was the one who gave her the name “Eleanora.” She could still remember the day so well...

“Dame,” she had said. “Dame” was “lady” in French; the only nickname that Eleanora tolerated. “Vous êtes trop belle pour ce monde.Un joli visage nécessite un joli nom. Vous aimez Eleanora? Oui. J'aime le nom Eleanora. Vous êtes maintenant Eleanora.”**

And Eleanora had nodded and curtseyed and obliged the lady with a French song.  
It was a bitter blow to Eleanora the day that the lady’s son came from France to take her back home.

“Ma belle dame,” the lady had said. “Vous êtes trop belle pour ce monde. Un jour, un bel homme vous aimera et vous serez marié et être aimé et vivre heureux. N'oublie jamais cela.”***

Eleanora had nodded and curtseyed and tried not to cry when the lady left.  
She jumped around jobs for a time. No one really wanted her because she was too educated for a servant. She could speak French better than her masters; she read Shakespeare; she could polish the silver and open bottles of wine.

The French lady had written for her a letter to her future employers, describing how good and hard-working and competent she was, praising her drawings and her voice and her vast amounts of intelligence. The letter was very flattering, but Eleanora learned to hide it. It scared off the employers; they preferred having a stupid ugly maid to a clever ugly maid.

What really got Eleanora hired was her physical beauty—or rather, lack thereof. She was too thin, with huge blue eyes and black hair. She looked like a skeleton—a creepy, living, maid skeleton. And the employers loved that. The best maid of all was the dumb ugly one, so that she would never show up her bosses.

Eleanora jumped around less now, slowly crawling her way to the top. She was now in the employment of a middle-class family as a maid. Middle-class families were odd—most of them were fairly kind, but they were also fairly stupid. They were so desperate to prove themselves as higher than the lower-class, vainly trying to mimic the upper-class, that they did anything and everything and listened to all the garbage the magazines and books told them.

But Eleanora had no right to complain. She knew very well that most people that came from her place of birth didn’t have the same luxuries that she had. They didn’t have three meals a day and a roof over their heads and a regular salary. So she tried not to complain.

“Ma belle Eleanora, rappelez-vous qu'un jour vous sera aimé.”****

“Yeah, right.”

*My dear lady, you are more beautiful than the stars and one day you’ll meet a handsome man who will love you and then you’ll get married and live happily ever after.”

**You are too beautiful for this world. A pretty face requires a pretty name. Do you like Eleanora? Yes. I like the name Eleanora. You are now Eleanora.

***My beautiful lady, you are too good for this world. And one day, a handsome man will fall in love with you and you shall be loved and get married and will live happily ever after. Never forget that.

****My beautiful Eleanora, remember that one day you will be loved.


	3. Chapter 3

Another murder. This was getting ridiculous. And Scotland Yard still didn’t know a thing.

This time it was a countess who had been killed in the bath—someone had mixed a snake in with her bath salts. No witnesses saw anyone, no one had access to the bath salts all day, no one even knew that she was dead until the maid came in to change the towels.

It was so infuriating! Infuriating and irritating and humiliating! Here he was, the Queen’s Guard Dog, and he couldn’t even do anything!

“Did you really find nothing?” Ciel snapped at his butler. Sebastian shook his head, just as vexed as the young master was.

“Nothing my Lord. I’m sorry.”

“But how can there be absolutely nothing? Even the professionals leave something!”

“They must be absolute professionals, then.”

“There’s no such thing,” Ciel said, but the thought still lingered in his mind. Absolute professionals? Inhuman professionals? But Sebastian had told him once that inhuman activities usually leave more traces than human ones. Unless…

“Sebastian, is there something that you’re not telling me?”

“No, my Lord.”

“I order you to tell me everything you know about this case!—Everything that I don’t know, that is.”

“Yes my Lord.” Sebastian leaned in close and whispered in Ciel’s ear, “Nothing.”

“‘Nothing?’ You know nothing that I don’t know?”

“Yes my Lord.”

“But how is that even possible?”

“As I said, my Lord, perhaps we’re dealing with absolute professionals. And to find an absolute professional…”

“…we’re going to need an absolute professional,” Ciel finished and then stood up. “Come, let’s go.”

“Where, my Lord?”

“Outside, away from this mansion. I need to get away from it all for a little bit.”

“Certainly, sir.”

 

Eleanora was out shopping with another maid, pushing her way through the crowds, kicking the occasional shin, hurriedly biting off words that would probably have gotten her instantly fired if anyone had heard her.

The other maid, of course, was no help. She kept on squeaking like a dying rat, hesitantly tapping on shoulders and politely asking people to move.

“E-Excuse me, sir, b-but can you please—?”

“MOVE IT BALDY!” Eleanora shouted in his ear and elbowed him between the ribs, effectively pushing him aside.

“Eleanora!” the other maid scolded. “Now that’s not proper behaviour at all, especially for a maid!”

“God, you act like I care,” Eleanora muttered and kicked someone in the shin.

“But Eleanora, you…”

“AND YOU’RE ANOTHER YA LITTLE SNOT-NOSED PUNK!”

“But Eleanora, how are you planning on meeting someone nice and gentile if you go on swearing like that?”

“That? Swearing? That was barely an insult! Believe me, when I swear, you’ll never confuse swearing again.”

“But think of your future!”

“I am thinking of my future. What do you think the missis will do to me if I don’t get all these groceries? Trust me, this is the only way to get things done—MOVE IT YA BOZO!”

Unfortunately, despite Eleanora’s best efforts, by the time all the grocery shopping was done it was already very dark outside. Eleanora looked around for a bit, checked the time, and promptly started striding towards an alley.

“What are you doing?!” the maid said, running towards her. “Where do you think you’re going?!”

“Me? I’m going home. It’s late and I’m tired and I’m probably going to get yelled at for bringing the groceries home late.”

“Well, why don’t we just go home the normal route? It’s quick.”

“It’s not quick enough. If we go this way, with luck we’ll get in time for only a half-hour’s scolding.”

“But alleys are dangerous! Especially at night. There could be homeless people and rats and all sorts of nasty diseases and…”

“Nothing I haven’t dealt with before,” Eleanora said, waving her hand aside. “Now, are you coming with me or going alone?”

The maid took several steps back.

“Suit yourself. You’ll see me back at the house.” And she strode confidently into the alleyway, passing two men gesturing over a newspaper.

“Did you hear? Another murder!”

“Simply dreadful! A countess in the bath!”

“Boy, I’d pay good money to see that!”

They laughed.

“They say that the Queen has sicced her Guard Dog on the murderer.”

“The Queen’s Guard Dog! Ruler of the underworld!”

Eleanora scoffed as she passed them. The Queen’s Guard Dog indeed, the so-called “ruler of the underworld.” Another title bestowed onto some moron who felt underappreciated. He should know that the underworld was un-rule-able. What happened in the underworld stayed in the underworld and no one in the “proper” world above could do anything about it. And this “Guard Dog”, whoever he was, was certainly taking his sweet old time in finding the murderer. It was fairly obvious; even she could probably have found him out by now. Or perhaps he was just biding his time. She shook her head. She would never understand the nobility.

She entered the bad part of town, where a man was getting kicked out of a whorehouse, still clutching some woman’s ripped corset. She rolled her eyes. Imagine the fuss the Guard Dog would kick up upon seeing something like that!

No, the Guard Dog was useless in the underworld; anyone who had ever come close to the underworld could tell him that. Even now, he was probably banging his head on the table, searching for a clue.


	4. Chapter 4

“Ciel, would you please stop banging your head against the table?”

Ciel scowled up at Madam Red and gently rubbed his bruised shin. Someone had kicked it when he was passing through the bustling marketplace.

“But what do I do?” he moaned. “What do I do? Where do I look? Who do I ask?”

“Obsessing over things isn’t going to help,” his aunt said sternly. “Just calm down and let things go as they will.”

“If I let things ‘go as they will,’ all of England’s aristocracy will go the way of the dodo—you and I included.”

“I sincerely doubt that,” Madam Red said. “Just wait until they make a mistake.”

“But they haven’t made one yet!”

“But they most certainly will. Everyone makes mistakes. You do, I do, Sebastian does…” She glanced suspiciously at the butler, “…probably. The point is, everyone makes mistakes, especially when they get comfortable and confident. The murderer will eventually feel that they are invincible; they’ll make one wrong move, and then, bingo! You’ll catch them. All you have to do is wait.”

“But I’m not sure how much longer I can wait,” Ciel complained. “Her Majesty’s subjects are being targeted and threatened. Will I have to wait until they come for me?”

“Just wait,” Madam Red urged and confidently moved a chess piece, resulting in her defeat.

 

Eleanora was moving quickly through the bad parts of town, easily navigating the twists and turns and expertly heading towards her employer’s house. She was comfortable—no one bothered her, she was in familiar territory, she was just about to let herself imagine dinner when she heard a pitiful, weedy cry:

“No, no! Please, no! I’ll do anything! I’ll pay you anything! Just don’t kill me!”

She paused. Someone was getting mugged—mugged or murdered. Not at all uncommon in these parts, and normally she’d just cruise on by, but the person who was apparently being attacked had a voice different from the ones usually heard here—proper English, snobby accent—a nobleman.

Two big butch men appeared out of the darkness, dragging a young, well-dressed man along by his arms.

“Shit!”

Eleanora ducked behind a corner and listened.

“It’s none of your business; just keep walking and leave and go home; think of dinner think of dinner…”

The nobleman was still crying and begging for mercy. His offers of rich rewards again made Eleanora pause. Saving a nobleman did have its benefits. She could get money out of it—lots and lots of money. Or she could wait and then steal his wallet. Either way worked.

She carefully crept out of her hiding spot and looked around. The butch men had dumped the nobleman in a dead end, surrounded by three walls and the men blocking the only exit. The nobleman was whimpering and offering vast amounts of wealth—just hearing about it made her lick her lips.

“P-Please, I’ll do anything, anything at all! What do you want?!”

One of the men was chewing an unlit cigar; he spat into the street.

“Boss wants you dead,” he said gruffly. “So we wanna kill you.”

“K-Kill me?” His eyes went wide with shock. “Oh, please don’t kill me, please, I’ll do anything!”

“Shut up!” the other man shouted and kicked the nobleman in the stomach, immediately crippling the young man. The aristocracy was not known for their toughness. Then the other man kicked the young man in the back, and then in the stomach, and then they lifted him up and began pummeling him with their fists…

They were beating him to death.

Eleanora bit back a groan. She had seen numerous deaths in her lifetime, but beating was always one of the cruelest ways to go—it hurt both the victim and the audience.

The nobleman didn’t last long. He went deathly limp about five minutes in. The men kicked his head a couple of times and they turned to leave…

They spotted Eleanora.

“Hey! You!”

She ran.

She ran as fast as she could, using all the tricks she had learned in her life on the streets, making sharp turns, doubling back, kicking over trash cans…They were still following her.

She made another sharp turn and rammed into someone’s back.

“Hey! What’s the big idea?”

The person had an aristocrat’s voice—not the voice of a poor person. They turned around and Eleanora could see the moonlight glinting off of their glasses and their sharp teeth as they grinned.

“Well, and just who might you be?”

Eleanora was about to wonder if the person was a man or a woman when she heard the butch men come running after her.

“She went that way!”

“Quickly! Catch ‘er!”

She scrambled to her feet and pushed past the strange man-woman and almost tripped over another dead body—a noblewoman.

The men were coming and the man-woman was asking her questions. She looked around; she knew where she was; she could make it home in five minutes if she ran.

So she ran.

She burst into the kitchen through the back door, tossed aside the basket of groceries, ignored all the protests and demands of the other servants, and ran up the stairs, never stopping until she was in her room with the doors and windows locked. She began to pace the room like a caged animal, pausing and listening at every sound.

The night went by and she began to relax. She had lost whoever had been chasing her. She didn’t see anything. She didn’t know anything. No one had seen her. She was safe.

She collapsed onto her bed with a sigh. Safe. No one had seen her. No one knew that it was her. She was safe.

Safe.

 

Madam Red left through the middle of their fifth chess game to answer the telephone. She returned pale and shaking, but with a triumphant look in her eyes.

“What? What is it? What happened?” Ciel asked, already knowing what moves he would make to win.

“That was Grell just now,” Madam Red said, sitting back down across Ciel. “And let me tell you, you should listen to your aunt more.”

“Why? What happened? What did Grell say?”

“She said,” here Madam Red couldn’t resist a victorious grin, “She said that she just found your witness.”


	5. Chapter 5

The day began normally and then quickly grew incredibly rushed.

Mrs. Standfield—Eleanora’s employer—burst into the kitchen suddenly and demanded that a prime lunch be made, fit for the Queen.

“Why?” one of the footmen asked. “What’s going on?”

“The Earl is coming!” Mrs. Standfield gasped. “The Earl of Phantomhive!”

“What?!” chorused four voices. “The Earl of Phantomhive?!”

“You know who that is?” one of the maids said excitedly to Eleanora, who had gone oddly quiet. “That’s one of the noblemen rumoured to be the ‘Queen’s Guard Dog,’ ruler of London’s criminal underworld!”

“You don’t say?” Eleanora said faintly, looking a little ill.

“Well, don’t just stand there, Mary Ann, get up and do something!” Mrs. Standfield said to her and ran off to shout orders to her family.

Eleanora nodded weakly and mechanically started making lunch—the best lunch that she knew how to make.

She knew that the Earl of Phantomhive was one of the prime candidates of being the Queen’s Guard Dog—a fact that she had never cared about until now. Why here? Why now? Why on earth would a respectable earl—an upper-class—venture down to visit a middle-class home suddenly and for no apparent reason? Could it have something to do with last night? With what she had seen?

No, that was impossible. It was ridiculous to even consider it. The Earl wouldn’t bother with a simple maid like her—why, he probably didn’t even know that she had been out last night! He knew nothing; he could find nothing; she was in the clear; she had nothing to worry about from the first.

But the Earl, the Earl. Why was he coming?!

Mrs. Standfield had said that the Earl would arrive at around noon, and he was certainly a punctual man. The doorbell rang at 11:59. One of the footmen was sent to open the door while everyone else lined up in the drawing room—Mr. and Mrs. Standfield and their daughter Angelique in front, Eleanora and the rest of the servants behind them.

They couldn’t hear anything; the hallway was too far away, but in minute the footman returned, looking very confused and nervous.

“T-The Earl of Phantomhive,” he announced, “and company.”

Everyone shared a look. “And company?”

And then the Earl entered—with company.

If Eleanora hadn’t been so nervous she would have laughed. This was the Earl? Some tiny little kid with an eyepatch? She had eaten things bigger than this kid. Perhaps there was a mistake? But no—he had to have been the Earl. He was the only richly-dressed male in the group.

There was an elegant noblewoman with him. She wore a red dress which perfectly matched her red hair and eyes. She had a very nice smile—the smile of someone you could trust.

There were two men standing behind the aristocrats. One of them was a very tall, very handsome man dressed entirely in black. He was smiling, but his smile looked a bit predatory—as if he just wanted to eat them all. The other man was smaller, weedier, more pathetic, with long brown hair tied back with a bit of red ribbon and nervous green eyes behind glasses.

“E-Earl Phantomhive,” Mrs. Standfield said in a high, nervous voice. “W-Welcome to our humble home. We are honoured by your presence. I am Mrs. Standfield; this is my husband, Mr. Standfield; our daughter, Angelique.”

The Earl and the noblelady bowed.

“Very pleased to meet you,” the Earl said. “I am Ciel, Lord Phantomhive; this is my aunt, Baroness Durless-Barnett; my butler, Sebastian; and the Baroness’ butler, Grell.”

“But please do call me Madam Red,” the Baroness said warmly, shaking everyone’s hand. “Everyone does.”

“Er…Wonderful,” Mrs. Standfield said awkwardly. “Th-These are my servants,” she gestured to the line behind her. Apparently she didn’t think of introducing them. She gave them names, as usual choosing simpler, humbler names over their real ones. “The footmen, Jack (Edward) and James (Jacob). The maids: Rebecca Ann (Bella), Lizzie Ann (Rosalie), and Mary Ann (Eleanora).”

They all curtsied or bowed. When Eleanora straightened up, her eyes met with the Earl’s butler. His smile widened and he did another small bow.

The idea was completely ridiculous, but for a few seconds, Eleanora thought that he was bowing specifically to her.

“Well,” Mrs. Standfield said, attempting to be cheerful, “Shall we get the servants to bring us tea? Please do sit down,” she said, gesturing to the chairs. The Earl and his aunt accordingly sat down. They looked exactly at home, as if they were born to sit in those horrendous middle-class chairs.

Mrs. Standfield giggled and cast an imploring, desperate look at the servants.

“Well? Aren’t you going to go down and fetch us some tea?”

They all bowed or curtseyed and began leaving the room.

“Sebastian, Grell, go with them and lend a helping hand,” the Earl ordered his servants.

“NO!” Eleanora thought while the other servants shared a look clearly indicating “YES!”

“Well, Earl, this is…very generous of you, um…” Mrs. Standfield said helplessly. Her idea of her having power was slipping away with every second.

The aristocrats’ servants bowed and followed the other servants out the door and down to the kitchen. Eleanora tried to ignore them, but as hard as she tried, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the butler in black was watching her very intently.


	6. Chapter 6

The Earl’s butler, just like his master, made himself exactly at home in the kitchen and was immediately pronounced as one of them. Only Eleanora seemed wary of him—wary of his debonair gentlemanliness and godly looks and perfect perfectness. And that was the best way to describe him: perfect. Perfect in his manners, his dress, perfect in everything he did and said and smiled. The servants, particularly the female ones, were enraptured by him almost instantaneously. Only Eleanora ignored him, focusing only on the tea. The other butler—Smell or whatever his name was—had seemed to disappear. It didn’t seem unusual: he didn’t seem to be a very noticeable man, as if he was born to be a wallflower.

The butler Sebastian charmed his way into the servants’ inner circle in a matter of minutes. Soon they were telling him all of their secrets, how Edward secretly stole jam, how Jacob bought naughty magazines on the sly, how Bella wore pink garters, how Rosalie had a boyfriend, how Eleanora could speak French, how Edward…

…And he just listened politely, nodding and smiling and cracking the occasional joke, sending everyone into peals of laughter. Eventually they got so comfortable with him that they decided to ask him some daring questions:

“Are you married?”

“Do you have a girl?”

“Are you still a virgin?”

He had laughed, a perfect light laugh and changed the subject, eyes twinkling—whether with merriment or malice Eleanora didn’t know.

“Hey,” Bella said, leaning in excitedly, “I heard that your master’s the Queen’s ‘Guard Dog.’ Is this true?”

He laughed again.

“Perhaps,” he said, winking. “After all, I am merely a humble butler. How can I possibly know what goes on with my master?”

They laughed at that.

“By the way, have you heard of what’s happening with all the nobles?” Jacob said suddenly. “They’re all dropping dead like flies! You’d best be on your guard, man. If your master’s not careful, you might need to find yourself a new boss!”

They laughed at that.

“No, but really: isn’t it just terrible?” Rosalie said. “No evidence, no witnesses, absolutely nothing at all! How on earth are the police going to find out who’s doing it?”

The butler smiled to himself and circled the rim of his teacup with a perfect gloved finger.

“I heard,” he said delicately, “that there is a witness—just one solitary witness.”

The servants gasped and whispered and begged him for more details. Eleanora focused herself entirely on the cake in the oven.

“Just one witness,” he said again, smirking at their interest. “Just a rumour, mind you; even I’m not entirely sure if it’s true—but the witness is said to be a maid.”

More gasps and whispers and jests at the maids’ expense.

“A maid,” he repeated. “A maid working for a middle-class family. She was found in the ‘bad’ part of London—running away from someone. She supposedly acted very familiar with the territory…as if she had lived there before…”

“Then it must be Eleanora!” Edward hooted. “Hey, Mary Ann, come here! Tell us: have you seen any nobles being murdered lately?”

Everyone laughed, except for Edward. Eleanora had just given him the finger.

The bell from the drawing room rang.

“That’s Mrs. Standfield,” Jacob grouched, standing up. “I’ll go and see what the old bat wants.”

“I’ll come with you,” Bella said, also standing.

Rosalie remembered laundry that was outside and Edward mumbled something about using the necessary—probably to get out of the same room as Eleanora. Within seconds the room was cleared, leaving only Eleanora…and the butler.

He stood up slowly, almost lazily, and glided his way towards her, while she was buttering bread for the tea, trying to look bored and controlled when in reality she was panicking.

“So…” the butler said, leaning against the kitchen counter and watching her out of the corner of his eye, “fancy there being a witness to such a heinous crime.”

“Yes, fancy that,” Eleanora said, relieved to hear her voice come out as a churlish growl—her usual tone.

“A maid,” he mused. “Just a simple maid, working for a middle-class family…someone who is familiar with the bad parts of town…someone who saw what she shouldn’t have seen…Interesting.”

“Fascinating,” Eleanora said sarcastically. “I think that I shall die of excitement.”

Her heart was beating so fast, she was sure that he could hear it.

“Miss Mary Ann…”

“Eleanora.”

“Oh! I do beg your pardon,” he said, smiling as if he didn’t really care about her name. “Miss Eleanora. What if I told you that my young master truly is the Queen’s Guard Dog?”

Eleanora didn’t answer.

“What if I told you that I knew, for a fact, that there truly is a witness?”

Eleanora was having difficulty breathing; she fought to look calm.

“What if I told you,” he whispered in her ear, “that I think that you’re that exact same witness?”

Eleanora burst out laughing.

“Me? A witness? To some noble moron’s death?” she snickered in his surprised face. “Get real. If there really is a witness, wouldn’t they go straight to the police? Ask the servants, ask the masters, ask anyone; they’ll tell you that I hate the police with a passion. I wouldn’t go to them if it would save my life.”

Eleanora forced a smile at the irony of it all.

“Perhaps you’re right,” he sounded disappointed. “Perhaps there really is no witness. But then again…” he suddenly leaned in close, pinning her to the counter, “perhaps you’re wrong. Perhaps you’re just lying to cover something up…Perhaps you actually do know something? Maybe you’ve seen something? Know something? Come now, Miss Eleanora…” he leaned in, whispering in her ear, “you can tell me…”

She punched him.

She kissed her hurt knuckles and glared at him, who was now on the floor, looking delightfully shocked.

“Firstly,” she said, “I am Miss Black to you, punk. Secondly, I know nothing. And thirdly, if I did know something, what the hell would make you think I would tell it to your fat arrogant ass?”

So saying, she gathered up the tea-things and made her way upstairs, striding past him, still looking stunned. Her usual mask of indifference had appeared on her face, but underneath that bored exterior was pure fright. She had just punched an earl’s butler. The Earl was the Queen’s Guard Dog. They knew that she knew something. They all knew it. She would be dead by evening.

“Shit.”

She should have poured something in the Earl’s tea. Something to make him…occupied. They had some fine rat poison in the cupboard...But now she was entering the drawing room. Now it was too late.

She forced on a smile and began pouring the tea.

 

Sebastian stood up and gently touched his eye. She was pretty strong; he already knew that it was a fine purple.

“Grell,” he said and the other butler appeared around the corner, looking nervous.

“B-Bassy, your eye…”

“Never mind it,” he said and pulled him into the hallway. “Now tell me: are you sure it’s her?”


	7. Chapter 7

She finished pouring the tea and mechanically walked back down to the kitchen, hearing the high, nervous prattling of Mrs. Standfield vainly trying to impress her aristocratic guests—and seeming to fail; the Earl looked absolutely bored and the Baroness looked as if she was trying to enjoy herself…which gave her an expression of pain.

She arrived downstairs and was just about to turn into the kitchen when she heard something being violently slammed against a wall. She ducked behind the wall and peeked out. The butler—that damned butler—had the other butler by the neck and had pinned him to the wall.

“Focus!” he hissed, shaking the other butler a bit. “Focus! Now are you sure which one it is?”

The other butler—Grell—laughed weakly and fiddled with his glasses.

“W-Well, I don’t know; it was so dark in the alley and it all happened so quick…”

Then the butler growled. An actual, real, honest-to-mother!!!-god growl. He growled and tightened his grip around the man’s neck.

“W-Wait! Wait Bassy! I remember!” the other butler gasped. “She had blue eyes! Yes, I remember distinctly: she most definitely had blue eyes!”

“Blue eyes?”

“Yes.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive!”

“Good,” the butler sighed and released the other. “Do you have makeup? Powder or something?”

“Hm? Yes. Why?” The other butler rifled through his pockets and brought out a compact, looking confused. The one in black took the compact, opened it, and began covering up his black eye, which Eleanora could see in the compact’s mirror. She couldn’t resist a grin; that had to have been one of her best punches.

She worried for nothing! There were plenty of middle-class maids in the world with blue eyes; why, there were at least two in this very house! Let’s see, Bella had brown eyes and Rosalie had green eyes and—

She felt cold. She was the only maid with blue eyes.

“Shit!”

She ducked into the kitchen while the demented butlers were occupied: the black one with his eye, the weedy one watching in adoring fascination. She was pretty sure she saw him drooling.

“But Bassy,” she heard him say, “can’t you fix it immediately, using your powers or something?”

“No, it’s too soon,” she heard the other one sigh. “I have to wait and fix it slowly. Here you go; thank you. Now where did that girl go?”

“Oh—I think she’s in the kitchen; that old hag wanted some sandwiches.”

Eleanora winced and quickly fixed up some food. She wanted to be away from it all and be with as many people as possible—no one would dare to murder someone if there were a lot of people around, even if those people were some crummy middle-classers.

She finished with the food and prepared to run upstairs, she turned the corner and almost ran directly into the Earl’s butler.

“Let me help you,” he said, smiling. Eleanora blinked up at him. He was truly a master; one could hardly tell that he had a black eye; if she didn’t know any better, she would have said that there was never one to begin with. He reached for the tray filled with food and she pulled it back.

“Thank you, I can do it myself,” she said sulkily and stomped past him, trying hard not to scream, especially as she heard him following her upstairs to the drawing room, where Mrs. Standfield was still trying too hard to impress the guests, telling all of her horrible middle-class jokes and forcing laughter at them.

“Refreshments, ma’am,” Eleanora murmured and set the tray down on the table.

“Hm? Oh, thank you Mary Ann. Go stand over there,” Mrs. Standfield absentmindedly waved her over to a corner, which she darted into gratefully. She was here, among people, and though two of those people were enemies, the odds were in her favor that she wouldn’t die just yet.

She felt cold again. The Earl’s butler was whispering something into his master’s ear. The Earl looked surprised, looked up, and their eyes met. Eleanora looked down and tried to turn invisible. She knew without looking that the butler was smirking.

“Is...Is something wrong?” Mrs. Standfield said nervously, fiddling with her fingers.

“Oh, no, not at all,” the Earl of Phantomhive said, waving the butler aside. “I confess, Mrs. Standfield, that I had an ulterior motive for coming here.” He leaned in seriously. Mrs. Standfield giggled. Eleanora tried not to faint.

“Your household is renowned for having the very best of servants,” the Earl continued. “Of course, one can only attribute the lady of the house for their success. I sent my butler downstairs to see if this was, indeed, the case, and he brought back only stellar reviews.”

“Well!” Mrs. Standfield said, laughing a half-hysteric laugh. “You know what they say about servants!”

“And what do they say about servants?”

“Well, that…they pick things up…from their…employers?” Mrs. Standfield said hesitantly and quickly changed the subject. “By the way, Lord Phantomhive, have you seen my daughter, Angelique?” The daughter accordingly nodded and smiled. “She’s so young and talented and beautiful and yet unmarried; are you aware of any unwed members of the nobility?”

Eleanora rolled her eyes and accidently made eye contact with the butler. He smiled at her, his perfect, predatory smile again and did a small bow.

There was no doubt about it this time: he was specifically bowing to her.


	8. Chapter 8

The Earl of Phantomhive and his unnatural crew left shortly after refreshments were served. To say that Eleanora was relieved would have been a massive understatement; she could have kissed her worst enemy for joy.

Unfortunately, that joy was short-lived. The Earl and company returned the next day.

And the day after that.  
And the day after that.  
And the day after that.

The butler Grell was as innocuous as ever; nobody cared about him; nobody looked for him; nobody talked about him. Unfortunately, the butler Sebastian was as beloved as ever. The footmen admired him and the maids adored him, and frankly, Eleanora couldn’t blame them. She hated to admit it, but he was absolutely perfect. Modest, kind, helping, encouraging, supportive, handsome, good-humoured with an ability to tell a perfect dirty joke followed by a perfect little smirk…He was almost too perfect, which was why Eleanora was suspicious of him.

That, and the fact that she was convinced he was going to murder her in an alley at some point.

He didn’t play favorites, although the maids frequently wished that he would—in their favor, of course. He treated everyone equally, helping them, smiling at them, complimenting them…Eleanora also wished that he would play favorites so he would leave her alone. She never talked to any of the servants while he was in the room, so he only cozied up to her when they were both alone in the same room—an occurrence that happened much more times than she wanted.

“Good morning, Miss Black.”

“Mornin.”

“Can I help you, Miss Black?”

“No.”

“Are you sure, Miss Black?”

“Positive.”

“If you’re sure, Miss Black…”

“Positive.”

“If you need something, Miss Black, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Uh-huh.”

Then he’d smile his perfect smile and linger for a few moments, irritating and frightening her by turns.

She knew that he knew something about her. She knew that at some point, he would make a move. She knew that, once the move was made, she would never be able to escape. If life was a giant game of chess, she was a queen, able to make whatever moves she wanted to if given the chance, but the other pieces were slowly closing in on her, restricting her available moves, cornering her until the last possible moment…

But not all of her moves had been blocked off yet.

She accidently left a newspaper lying around, a newspaper opened to the “Help Wanted” section, a newspaper which the Earl’s butler promptly saw.

“You’re considering another occupation, Miss Black?”

“Hm? Oh yes.”

“Nearby?”

“Oh, preferably no. I’d much rather go someplace far, far away.”

“Oh? Like where?”

“Like darkest Siberia.”

He had laughed, his eerie perfect laugh that always sounded as if he was mocking her. It frightened her; she had to make a move quickly; she’d discuss quitting with her employers next week…

The Earl made his move the very next day.

“You know how I said, Mrs. Standfield, that your servants are renowned among the nobility? Well, I have a little problem: I’m going to host a ball and I’m afraid that I’m running low on help…Could you possibly spare a maid?”

Mrs. Standfield, of course, was honored for one of her “specially-trained” servants to help an Earl with his ball, and any doubts that she might have had were instantly erased when Ciel presented her with five invitations: one for each member of the family and two guests.

“In order not to cause friction between the servants,” the Earl said to the servants, lined up before him, “my butler shall close his eyes and point at one of you—randomly. Sebastian?”

The butler smiled and stepped forward and closed his eyes. Everyone gasped and whispered to each other, each wishing each other luck but praying that they would be one to be chosen. Eleanora couldn’t stop staring at the butler; he was still smirking as if he knew a secret.

Mrs. Standfield hushed the servants and the butler raised his finger, moving his arm from side to side, slowly, slowly, before landing on Eleanora.

There were more gasps and whispers and the servants congratulated her, even though they all knew that they were jealous of her.

The butler merely smiled at her while Mrs. Standfield told her to go upstairs and directly pack her things.

“I don’t think that it was a random selection at all,” she confessed to Bella, who had followed her upstairs.

“Don’t be ridiculous; it was perfectly random; he had his eyes closed and everything,” she scoffed.

“But I think that maybe, somehow…he knew who to pick…”

“Are you saying that he would have chosen you over me?”

Eleanora quickly dropped the subject and packed her things.

The butler held the carriage door open for her, which she ignored and got in without his assistance. The aristocrats and the butler Grell were already waiting for her. Then the black butler got in himself and the door closed, leaving her surrounded by enemies.

She was trapped.

The Earl sighed and stretched.

“Thank god that’s over,” he said. “I hope I never have to deal with that woman and her brood ever again.”

“Now darling,” Madam Red said, trying to be diplomatic, “be nice.”

“But did you hear her? Putting on airs like that, pretending that she knows everything? Disgusting! It hurt to hear her. I think my intelligence has been significantly lowered just by being in the same room with her.”

“I’m sure you didn’t have far to fall,” the butler Sebastian said quietly, so quietly that only Eleanora could hear. If someone else had said it, she would have probably laughed, but as it were, she remained stony-faced.

“Well, no matter,” the Earl said, leaning back in his seat. “Now then, Miss Mary Ann…”

“…That’s not my name,” Eleanora said, surprising herself. It was rude to correct employers, especially rich powerful employers with butlers that looked like murderers.

“Oh! Really? What is it, then?”

He didn’t sound angry; just genuinely interested in knowing her name.

“E-Eleanora Black, sir,” Eleanora said hesitantly.

“‘Eleanora?’ What a pretty name! Isn’t that a pretty name, Sebastian?” Madam Red asked the butler, who merely smiled.

“Thank you, milady,” Eleanora mumbled.

“Now then, Eleanora,” the Earl resumed, “we understand that you have some knowledge concerning the recent murders of nobility. We would be most interested in hearing it, so if you would kindly divulge the information…”

The carriage suddenly stopped.

“Oh, bother!” Madam Red said and stuck her head out the window. “Some kind of jam or something. It’ll be over within a minute.”

True to her word, the carriage started up a few seconds later.

“So, Miss Eleanora,” the Earl said, turning to her corner…

Eleanora was gone.

They looked around for her vainly until Grell pointed out the window:

“Look!”

…And they saw her running like hell away from the street and the carriage, heading directly into a very dark and dangerous alley.

“Move, Sebastian,” Ciel growled. “Go bring her back.”

Sebastian did a small bow.

“Certainly, my Lord.”

And he left the carriage to pursue her.


	9. Chapter 9

Sebastian came back several hours later, looking marvelously displeased with Eleanora tied up and slung over his shoulder.

“You look pretty awful,” Ciel commented, staring at his face. It was covered in bruises and cuts and his nose had been bleeding. Sebastian glared at him in response and dumped the maid onto the floor.

Her arms and legs had been tied up and she was gagged. She was also missing her skirt.

“Sebastian!” Madam Red said, horrified. “What did you do to her?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Sebastian growled. “She forced me to do it.”

“Where’s her dress? What happened to it? Did you…” She glared at the butler, who glared right back.

“She tore it off and threw it at me to distract me and for it to be easier for her to run. I think it’s somewhere in an alley if you want me to find it.”

“Well, I don’t care if she gave you trouble or not; this is no way to treat a lady; untie her this instant!”

Sebastian rolled his eyes, knelt down next to Eleanora, and untied her. She remained completely stiff throughout the whole thing, but as soon as the last rope was gone, she punched him, sending him flying, and then she leapt on him with her hands around his neck…

He slapped her away and pressed her to the ground. She bit his hand and his grip weakened, allowing her to kick him away and aim for another punch…

The fight continued for a while with Madam Red and Ciel watching it dumbly. Eventually Eleanora was pinned to the ground with her legs being held down by Sebastian stepping on them, with him holding her arms behind her back and with his other hand pressing her head down on the floor.

“Oh…kay,” Ciel said hesitantly. “Sebastian, get off of her.”

“WHAT? But she…”

“Eleanora,” Madam Red said sternly. “I don’t know what you think is going to happen to you, but I assure you that no one in this house wants to hurt you in any way, shape, or form.”

“Unless, of course, you attack first,” Sebastian said, hissing into her ear. She glared up at him.

“Which, I’m sure, that she won’t,” Madam Red said. “Get off of her.”

Sebastian growled again into her ear and hesitantly rose up, allowing Eleanora to stand up as well. She brushed herself off a bit and attempted a curtsey, which was a bit difficult as she truly wasn’t wearing a skirt.

“Now then, Eleanora,” Ciel said, looking only at her face, “what do you know about the murders of the nobles.”

“Nothing, sir,” Eleanora said nervously, staring at the floor.

“We know that’s not true,” Sebastian said.

“Shut up, tootsie,” Eleanora snapped at him. Sebastian looked as if he wanted to kill her.

“Now, now, you two, play nice,” Madam Red said in a too-cheerful voice.

“Yes, it’s not fair to get upset at her because she beat you,” Ciel said, looking at Sebastian.

“She fought dirty.”

“That’s how you win, cupcake.”

“Don’t call me cupcake, you little…”

“Sebastian!” Ciel said and the butler calmed down, looking a bit penitent but mostly angry.

“Eleanora,” Ciel said, turning back to the maid. “We know that you know something. Just tell us what it is and we’ll leave you alone.”

“But…” she said weakly.

“But what?”

“But I don’t trust you,” she thought. “I don’t trust you and I don’t trust your aunt and I especially don’t trust your cute little cupcake of a killer butler.”

There was silence and then Madam Red clapped her hands.

“I’m sure that she’s tired,” she said. “In fact, we all are. So why don’t we all go to bed and we’ll talk about it in the morning?”

“That’s a good idea,” Ciel said, standing up. “Sebastian, show the lady to her room.”

Sebastian bowed.

“Certainly, my Lord.”

“Room? What room?” Eleanora asked, looking around at them all in a panic.

“The room that you’re staying in while you’ll be living with us,” Ciel said. “Where did you think that you were going to sleep? The floor?”

“But…I didn’t tell you anything…”

“Yes, but there’s still the ball that you have to help us with.”

“What? Seriously? There’s an actual ball? I thought that you just made that up to…” She broke off, looking nervous.

“No, it’s real,” Ciel said. “And in fact, we’re pretty lucky that you’re the one who knows something. Sebastian said that you were the most competent servant in that house—by far.”

“Oh,” she said. “How nice.”

“Sebastian, take her to her room.”

“Yes sir.”

Eleanora looked around; her suitcase was in the room; she grabbed it before the butler did.

“I can take that for you,” he said.

“No, it’s fine,” she said, moving it away from his grasp. He shrugged and left the room, Eleanora following him.

“The servants are already asleep,” he called behind him, “but I’ve already told them about you so we can spare the unnecessary introductions. Here we are:”

He opened a door and went downstairs to the kitchen.

“These are the servants’ quarters. Kitchen, storage; the men’s rooms are down that hallway,” he pointed. “The day starts at 5:00 in the morning, breakfast is at seven, lunch is around one in the afternoon, dinner is around eight and everyone goes to bed at ten. Your room is up here:” There was another staircase leading upwards; they went up and arrived at another hallway filled with rooms. “This is Mey-Rin’s room; she’s another maid; this is Grell’s room, and this…”

“Wait, why is Grell’s room up here? Shouldn’t he be downstairs with the men?”

“Usually, yes, but not in this case.”

“But why is he up here?”

“To ensure the safety of the other men,” Sebastian said darkly and opened up another door. “And this is your room. The bathroom’s to the side; everyone gets their own; I expect you downstairs and ready to work at around 5:30; do I make myself clear?”

“Yes sir. Thank you.”

Sebastian nodded and prepared to leave.

“Sir?”

“Yes?” He turned back.

“Am I really…safe here?”

“Of course.”

“Nobody will hurt me?”

“Yes.”

“No one will kill me?”

“Goodness, no! What on earth gave you that idea?”

“Oh, alright. Thank you sir.”

Sebastian nodded again.

“Sir?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry that I hit you.”

“Oh!” he turned to look at her, surprised. “Oh—It’s…nothing, really. Don’t…worry about it; I’ve had worse.”

“No, but I truly am very sorry for hitting you and fighting you and kicking you and biting you…And I’m sorry that I called you a cupcake.”

“It’s alright,” he said, smiling. “Don’t worry about it.”

“If you’re sure…”

“I’m positive. Good night, Miss Black.”

“Good night sir.”

Sebastian nodded and finally left, leaving Eleanora alone in the room. She looked around, trying to grasp what had happened to her. She was now working as a temporary maid for an Earl. Her life wasn’t in danger (yet) and she still had a job. She wondered about all the luxury around her; the room was huge and it had its own bathroom. Her room at Mrs. Standfield’s was about the size of a closet and everyone shared the bathroom…if you could call it a “bathroom,” that is. The butler was still creepy but now less so, as she knew how professional he was. Besides, now he deserved her respect, as he was now her boss.

She sat down on the bed and marveled at its softness. She hadn’t had such a nice mattress in a very long time; it bounced a bit and everything. But what was she to do about the information? She couldn’t remain silent forever.

“I’ll tell the Earl when the time is right,” she thought to herself. “Sometime when the time is right.”

She prepared herself and went to bed, secretly praying that the time would never be right.


	10. Chapter 10

Eleanora woke up bright and early at the usual time and wondered where she was.

“Oh,” she remembered weakly, “I’m at Phantomhive.”

She groaned and got up, already imagining all the horrible things that could happen today. She could be tortured for information. She could be killed by the butler. She could accidently make the wrong meal that the Earl would request.

She prepared herself and went downstairs. The house was eerily silent.

The butler was in the kitchen, fixing some clothes. He looked up, surprised, upon hearing her.

“Oh, you’re already awake? I wasn’t expecting you for another hour.”

“What—really? The servants for such a grand estate don’t wake up early?”

“They do—just not this early. Well, no matter. You’re up now. Would you like something to eat?” He stood up, as if ready to make her something.

“Oh no, I’m fine,” she said quickly. Food was perfect for poisonings, especially if someone else had made it. “I’m ready to work.”

“Really? Now? If you’re sure.” He tossed aside the clothes and began walking away, Eleanora following him. He rapped his knuckles against a closet in passing.

“Here is where we keep the cleaning supplies,” he said and went upstairs. He opened a pair of double doors to a huge room. “And this is the ballroom. Since you’re up so early, you can get started on cleaning it. The maid will come and help you once she’s finished with her other duties.”

“‘The maid?’ Is there just one?”

“Just the one, not including Grell. He can help you too.”

“How many servants does the Earl employ?”

“Five, including me: the maid, the gardener, the cook, the steward, and I, the butler. There are also two servants who visit with their masters and also assist: Grell and another butler.”

“Charming,” Eleanora said. “Mrs. Standfield would employ more people if she had the money, and here is an Earl, with the money, with no desire for employees! The whole place is full of freaks; I have to be more careful.” Eleanora tried not to groan; she was already acting as careful as she could.

The butler began to leave and called behind his shoulder,

“Breakfast, as I said, is as seven. I expect punctuality.”

“Yes sir,” she said, looking around at the ballroom. “Well, no sense in staring. I might as well start working.”

“Has the girl confessed to anything yet?” Ciel asked Sebastian when he came upstairs to wake him up.

“No sir; she’s been working all day.”

“Diligently?”

“I assume so; I haven’t checked up on her yet.”

“I see,” Ciel murmured and fell silent for a time. “Sebastian?”

“Yes?”

“Send the girl up to me after she has eaten. I want to talk to her about the case.”

He bowed.

“Certainly, sir. If that is all, sir, I shall meet you later.”

“Yes…”

Sebastian bowed again and left the room, thinking about the best way to get the maid to talk if she refused to cooperate. Hopefully she would; she seemed smart enough, but then again, one could never tell with humans, particularly human women.

He passed the ballroom and heard a voice straight from the depths of hell.

He paused, listening. Such a voice! Who was it? Mey-Rin? He wasn’t so sure that she could sing, let alone sing so beautifully. Grell? Nonsense, Grell couldn’t sound so lovely if his life depended on it. Perhaps someone was playing a record? That was possible.

He peeked into the ballroom.

The maid—what was her name again?—was washing the floor on her hands and knees, singing to herself. He didn’t know why she was on her hands and knees; they had a perfectly good mop; but it didn’t matter; whatever got the job done.

He entered the ballroom and leaned against the wall, listening. No, but it truly was beautiful. She could have sung at the opera. But what was her name again? Mary Ann? No, it was Eleanora.

He didn’t realize it at the time, but this was absolutely new to him. It normally took him a month or three to remember a name by himself—and that was if he tolerated the person enough. Normally in his mind he would refer to them as “the moron’s butler” (Agni), “the maid” (Mey-Rin), “the pervert” (Grell) and so on and leave it at that, but he had remembered Eleanora’s name on his own after about two weeks of meeting her. He didn’t know it yet, but this was significant progress. After all, he had been with the Earl of Phantomhive for two years and still referred to him as “that brat.”

Eleanora turned around and noticed him. She immediately stopped singing and sprung up to her feet, dusting off her dress and curtseying.

“Good morning, sir,” she said. “Is uh—is everything alright?”

“Fine…”

Eleanora twirled a lock of her hair.

“Dammit, why is he here? Did I mess up already? *gasp* Maybe I’m cleaning it wrong? Did I screw it up? Shit, I just got here and I’m already ruining things!”

“Sir?”

“Ah—yes?”

“Is…Is something wrong? Did I—Did I make a mistake?”

“Hm? Oh no. Carry on. You’re doing very well.”

Eleanora hesitantly nodded and got back down on her knees and continued washing the floor. Sebastian waited. She didn’t seem to want to sing anymore for some reason. What a pity. He turned to leave; she held back a sigh of relief.

“By the way,” he said, “the Earl wants to see you in his study after you have eaten breakfast. He’ll expect you at seven-thirty.”

“What? Really?” “Perfect.” “Of…course. I’ll go directly after breakfast.”

Sebastian nodded and left. Eleanora went back to cleaning, swearing under her breath.


	11. Chapter 11

Eleanora was silent throughout breakfast. She realized that the other servants were very kind and friendly and wanted to make her feel at home. However, she also realized that they had no idea of the things that she knew and the trouble that she was in. The butler hadn’t presented them with this information and clearly had no intention to. He didn’t eat breakfast; he had sat at the table with the rest of them and finished mending the clothes.

She didn’t eat much and when she was done, the butler led her to the Earl’s study, where he was sitting at a desk that was too big for him, flipping through some files and papers.

“Miss Black, my Lord,” the butler said when they entered. The Earl looked up.

“Hm? Oh, good! Could you please come closer, Eleanora?”

Eleanora winced but obediently walked up until she was directly in front of him. He set aside his papers and looked at her intensely.

“Eleanora,” he said seriously, “we know that you’ve witnessed a murder of a noble. If you could just tell us what you know, you’ll be doing your Queen and your country a great service.”

Eleanora couldn’t hold back a scoff. Queen. Country. What had they ever done for her? She had to work for everything good that had happened to her; no one had helped her in the slightest.

“You’ll be assisting justice. And we’ll give you a significant amount of money in exchange for your services.”

She perked up. Money?

“How much, sir?” she asked cautiously. He told her. “Oh.” That was quite a lot of money; almost triple the amount she made in a week. “So…all I have to do is tell you what I saw?”

“Yes,” Ciel said. “I assure you that we’ll guarantee your protection afterwards as well.”

Eleanora thought about it and slowly nodded.

“Alright,” she said. “I’ll tell you. But only you.” She glanced pointedly at the butler; the Earl quickly got the hint.

“Sebastian, leave the room and don’t eavesdrop.”

The butler did not look entirely pleased with this development, but he bowed and left the room anyway, glancing at the maid as he passed, who ignored him. Once they were properly alone, Ciel invited her to sit down, which she did.

“Now,” he said, “tell me everything you saw.”

She told him. 

About taking a shortcut through the alley, about hearing the pleas of the noble, about watching him get beaten to death, about running away from it all…The Earl listened politely and earnestly and didn’t interrupt until she was finished.

“What did the men look like?” he asked when she was done. “Were they tall, fat, skinny, noble, poor, did they have a mustache, facial disfigurements?”

“N-No, they looked just like ordinary thugs…Do you have a pencil and a piece of paper, my Lord?”

The Earl, confused, found the items and handed them over. Eleanora bent over the paper and spent about five minutes on it before handing it back. She had drawn a rather detailed sketch of the two men glaring at the viewer, with the beaten-up corpse of the nobleman in-between them.

“I see,” Ciel said, getting excited. “I see. Eleanora, there’s a bell over there; could you please kindly ring it?”

She did so and the butler Sebastian appeared in minutes.

“Yes sir?”

“Sebastian, come here and look at this,” Ciel said, impatiently waving the paper at him. He walked over and examined the paper.

“This is…”

“This is a sketch of the murderers, done by Eleanora,” Ciel said. “Isn’t it good? You could find them using this, right?”

“Normally, I wouldn’t be able to by a humble drawing,” Sebastian said, looking at the paper with interest, “but this is a remarkably good image. I’m sure that I could find them by tonight.”

“Check the rich people’s brothels,” Eleanora suggested. Everyone looked at her.

“The rich people’s brothels?” the Earl repeated. “Why?”

“Well, if I may speak, my Lord,” Eleanora said, blushing, “these men were clearly hired by some rich guy to kill this other person. They’re simple commoners—more than that, they’re men. Doubtless they’ll be blowing their hard-earned money on two things: booze and bitches. And of course, with all the money that they’ve been given, they’re not going to go to the average whorehouse. They’ll be going first-class all the way.”

“How do you know all this?” Ciel asked. Eleanora shrugged.

“Whenever I was down on my luck,” she said, “and I couldn’t get a job as a maid anywhere, I would go to the high-class brothels and work there as a brawler. You won’t believe the amount of drunken idiots who try to sneak in there and abuse the workers. That’s where I would come in: I would stop these guys from entering or, if they were inside, I would take them outside and thrash the absolute shi—I mean, I would beat them up and make sure that they wouldn’t dare to enter the establishment again. And I was paid well for it—there’s good money in brawling, especially if you’re working for the higher-class. And if you were paid to actually kill someone, that’s even better money. And I know the ways of men, especially poor men; they’ll be drunk as lords by this time tonight.”

“But you never know; they could be nobles in disguise.”

“Ridiculous; no noble could act like a beggar so well unless they’ve spent the majority of their lives in poverty. Besides which, a noble wouldn’t use such crass means to kill a person; they’d think of something else.”

“So it wasn’t orchestrated by a noble; it was all planned by the lower-class?” Ciel was getting more excited.

“No, it was planned by a noble.” The Earl crashed again. “Some noble paid these guys to go and kill this other man and so they went and did it.”

“But this noble didn’t tell the men how to kill him?”

“They probably told them to keep it discreet and make it look like an accident, which they did. The poorer people are much more acquainted with death than the nobility, sir.”

“How is beating someone to death an accident?”

“First they dragged the noble to the bad part of town, where everyone gets thrashed at some point in their life. And sometimes, if the thrasher is drunk enough, the thrashed can actually die from a beating. There are thousands of dead bodies just lying around everywhere from these occurrences. No one in the bad part of town would question it; the corpse would only be discovered when the nobles go looking for it. And if the corpse has been robbed, that also automatically gives an incentive, which makes the poorer people question it less.”

“But you said that the men didn’t rob the body.”

“They didn’t; someone else would come along and do it for them.”  
“How do you know that for sure?”

 

“I’ve seen it happen all the time.” She shuffled a little. “I’ve done it myself a couple of times,” she mumbled.

“What? You’ve stolen money off of dead bodies?”

“The dead are easy targets,” Eleanora defended herself. “The corpse isn’t going to rise up and clobber you for taking their wallet. Besides, if it’s an emergency, I’ll be needing that money more than it will, right? What—they gonna charge a toll for entering the pearly gates? Bread ain’t cheap and the dead ain’t gonna be usin’ their mouths for a while so I might as well make use of mine and avoid their fate for a few more days.”

Eleanora blushed upon realizing her crass speech and quickly mumbled an apology. The Earl kept on thinking.

“Sebastian.”

“Yes?”

“Go and find these two men and ask Scotland Yard to interrogate them. I would follow Eleanora’s advice, so go and check the brothels first.”

“Yes my Lord.”

“Thank you Eleanora,” the Earl said. “As promised, you’ll be receiving some money for your help and you’ll be allowed to leave as soon as this wretched ball is over and done with. You may go.”

Eleanora curtseyed, thanked them, and practically ran out of the room, leaving the Earl and his butler alone.

“Sebastian?”

“Yes?”

“This Eleanora seems to be remarkably clever.”

“Yes sir.”

“She seems to know a lot about the world of poverty and of human nature.”

“Yes sir.”

“Added to that, she’s also an excellent fighter. She was able to pin you down once or twice.”

“She cheats, sir.”

“Which shows that she’s not above using immoral means to get what she wants.” Ciel paused for a moment. “She could be useful for Phantomhive.”

“Perhaps.”

“Sebastian, keep watching this girl. I have a feeling that we’ll have need of her services again.”

Sebastian bowed and left the room to find the murderers.


	12. Chapter 12

The murderers, as Eleanora had predicted, were found in a high-class brothel. Arresting them had been easy—they were so drunk that all Scotland Yard had to do was walk them to the carriage. They had promised Phantomhive that they would tell him everything once the men had confessed, but it was taking them a while to sober up. Meanwhile, the servants were assisting with the ball.

Sebastian truly had gotten lucky. He had hired other maids before, all of which he had then fired. They might have been competent, they might have been good, hard workers, but all of them had cleverly hidden it. Apparently, they all thought that the way to a butler’s heart was through behaving like a giggly silly twit who couldn’t stop batting their eyelashes. They needed help with everything—from doing the laundry to washing the dishes to cutting up vegetables…The kicker was the one who kept on falling down and always needed “assistance” to get back up again, all while giggling and saying cutesy, annoying things like “silly me!” and “oh, I’m such a klutz!” It was so irritating that eventually Sebastian stopped helping her up and instead just walked on right by her, and when she said something like “oh, I’m so clumsy!” he agreed and told her to stop behaving so stupidly and do something worthwhile with her time. This made her burst into tears and run to her room, and then she got upset because he didn’t chase after her to console her. As if he was obligated to fall in “love” with every pretty face that came his way. Yawn.

Eleanora wasn’t like that. Like him, she seemed to hate incompetence of any kind. She would frequently “assist” the other servants, only it was mostly her doing their jobs for them because she knew that—somehow—they were going to mess it up anyway. One time, he caught her trying to teach the young Master how to tie his shoes.

“But I don’t need to know!” he had protested. “I know lots of other things; they balance it out!”

Eleanora had scoffed.

“My Lord, if you’re kidnapped, what’s going to save your life: you telling them the year that William the Conqueror ascended the throne of England or you being able to properly tie your shoes so that you can effectively run away?”

The young Master didn’t have an argument for that, and the next day, he had demonstrated how he could tie his shoes. Eleanora had clapped for him while Madam Red had cheered and then the next day he had forgotten all over again and Eleanora didn’t have the patience to teach him again. Sebastian found the whole thing quite amusing and actually sided with Eleanora when the young Master complained (not that he told the Earl or anything).

Working with her was—surprisingly—tolerable. They had spent many hours together, making dinner in companionable silence, interrupted every now and then by questions:

“Where’s the salt?”

“Where did you put the flour?”

“Can I see the recipe again?”

He wasn’t so sure that he could have handled working with another “cute” maid. Eleanora didn’t blink excessively, she didn’t downplay her abilities, she didn’t try to make herself look like a fool in order to endear herself to others. She swore every now and then, but it was always very quiet and she usually apologized immediately if someone had heard her.

She had major trust issues; she didn’t like talking to anyone if it didn’t involve work in some way; she seemed desirous not to make any friends. This was more than fine with Sebastian; he didn’t want to make friends with her either. She was a good, capable worker and that was enough for him.

The ball arrived and all of the servants were forced to enter the party and assist with things. Eleanora had always been a bit of a wallflower at parties, so she just stood to the side and didn’t move until it seemed that someone needed her help. She fought back a sigh and tried to look blank; she didn’t think that she could pull off an interested look. She hated parties.

There was a young gentleman in front of her, talking to a group of people, laughing. Eleanora didn’t pay any attention to the conversation until the young man said that he had to use the necessary. She prepared herself for the question on where it was, but the man had completely ignored her and walked away. She followed him with her eyes and realized that he wasn’t going to the necessary—rather, he was going upstairs, to the young Master’s study.

“This should be interesting,” she thought and followed him.


	13. Chapter 13

The young man went directly into the young Master’s study, looking nervous. Eleanora hid behind the door to watch but not be seen. She saw the man reach into his pocket and bring something out, carefully putting it on the Earl’s chair. Then he quickly walked out and re-entered the ball, head down, trying to remain inconspicuous.

When she was sure that the man was gone, she darted into the study and examined the chair. The man had placed a tack on the chair—typical joke. She was about to dispose of it and have it done with when she recalled the recent murders of the nobility—no evidence, no witnesses, no suspects. For all she knew, this could be an attempt on the Earl’s life. She couldn’t tamper with evidence like that, but at the same time, she couldn’t let the Earl sit down on it.

She had to go and get help and advice. She ran back down to the party and desperately located the butler. He was standing in a group of ladies, politely listening to their flirting efforts. He was smiling, but it was so obviously fake that he looked just like a statue—just a bland, smiling statue. Eleanora wondered how the women could miss that he was clearly not interested.

She carefully pushed her way through the throng and managed to find his sleeve. She tugged on it anxiously.

“Sir? Uh…Sir?”

He ignored her; he probably didn’t hear her or thought that she was another woman clamoring for his attention.

“Sir? Sir! Listen, something’s off, I need your help…”

The Earl walked by and the butler moved off to talk to him. Eleanora almost swore in frustration and fought down a wave of panic. It was rude to talk to the Master in public; she would have to wait until he was alone or at least to the side or something.

She eavesdropped a bit; the Earl had something to discuss with Sebastian; they were going to the study.

“Well, !!!,” she thought and grabbed a platter of champagne from a nearby table. She strode towards the Earl and the butler, acting as ditzy as she could without appearing drunk, bumping into people and giggling.

“Oopsie! Please excuse me! My, but this floor is slippery, isn’t it? I’m afraid that I’m going to…”

She “tripped” and spilled champagne on the Earl. Everyone gasped and murmured and the Earl was just dumb with surprise and the butler looked at her as if he was seriously considering murder but Eleanora had seen the young gentleman in the crowd—the one who had placed the tack—and she “accidently” “tripped” again and spilled the remainder of the champagne on him, landing on the floor.

The butler immediately restored order, apologizing profusely and assisting the gentleman and the Earl out of the ballroom, Eleanora “meekly” following behind.

“S-Sir, I’m so sorry,” she said in the sappiest tone she could.

“It’s fine; don’t worry about it,” the Earl sighed. “I’ll change once I’ve finished talking with Sebastian. Come.” And he began walking towards the study.

“Shit!”

“Eleanora, attend to the gentleman; get him a new suit of clothes,” the Earl called over his shoulder.

The gentleman smiled shyly and plucked her sleeve.

“That’s right; if it’s not too much trouble, ma’am, I would appreciate it if…”

Eleanora snapped into action; she grabbed his arm and began running after the Earl.

Sebastian was remarkably displeased. His party—which he had so carefully planned—was ruined. And it was all the fault of that idiot. He had been wrong about her. He thought that she was competent…No. She was just another moronic maid. He couldn’t wait to have her leave the manor…

They arrived in the study with the Master talking about this-and-that, he was just about to sit down…

“Don’t sit in that chair! Don’t sit in that chair!”

Eleanora burst into the room, dragging along with her the very confused man. Sebastian didn’t think that he could get angrier, but it was absolutely possible.

“What are you doing here?” he asked icily. Eleanora leaned against the doorway.

“Don’t sit down,” she panted. “Don’t…sit…down.”

The young Master hadn’t sat down. He frowned at her.

“What? Why? What’s going on?”

“Young Master, there’s a ta—”

There was a loud sound and Eleanora felt a sudden, sharp pain in her side. She got a little weak and gently touched her side. Her hand came away red.

The gentleman looked absolutely horrified.

“B-Blood? Is that b-blood? I c-can’t s-stand b-blood; take it away from me…”

The Earl and his butler were looking shocked as well. Eleanora slowly turned her head to look behind her.

There was a man in the hallway, a man with a rifle. Upon realizing that he had been spotted, he stood up and ran away.

“Oh,” Eleanora thought, “I’ve been shot.”

“Sebastian!” the Earl shouted. “Go get that man!”

Eleanora nodded and dazedly stepped aside for the butler to run out the door. She let go of the gentleman who fell to the floor, whimpering and staring at her dress, which had a slowly growing red stain on it. The Earl grabbed the gentleman and pointed a gun at him.

“Who are you?” he demanded. “Who told you to do this? Why are you trying to kill me?”

The man started blubbering.

“I-It was just a prank, I swear, my Lord! J-Just a harmless little prank; I didn’t think that there would be blood…”

Somewhere in the distance there was a gunshot.

“Here, let me—” Eleanora said.

She grabbed the gun out of the Earl’s hand and chased after the two men, her fist firmly jammed into her side.

Sebastian intercepted the gunman in a hallway, leaving him trapped, unless, of course, he would want to go backwards, which he didn’t seem to want to do. The butler frowned and reached into his pocket for the silverware, fully prepared for gunshots and screams and tears…

The gunman started to grin. He grinned and reached into his pocket with trembling fingers.

“I’ve heard about you,” he whispered. “They say that you can’t be defeated. But lucky for me, I just happened to meet two gentlemen yesterday who told me how to beat you…”

He brought his hand from his pocket and held it out, revealing a silver bullet.

Sebastian felt cold.

“Ah, you’re scared, aren’t you?” the man whispered and slowly loaded his gun with the bullet. “They said that you would be. Nice guys, they both wore glasses…”

“Glasses…”

Something in Sebastian told him to run, but he couldn’t. To run would go against his Master’s orders, and he was physically unable to do so. He wanted to attack the man but he felt so cold and afraid that he couldn’t move; the man raised his gun up as if in slow motion…

There was a gunshot, followed shortly by another gunshot. Sebastian froze and waited for pain; none came but he vaguely realized that the man was screaming and was writhing around on the floor; someone had shot him in the legs and then he saw Eleanora standing behind the man, holding the Master’s gun and he sprang into action.

He knelt by the man and quickly began rifling through his pockets and unloading the gun. He was unarmed save for the gun and numerous bullets…Five of these were silver.

Sebastian tremblingly pocketed the silver bullets and weakly nodded to Eleanora as she asked him if he was alright, if he had been shot, if he was sure that he was alright.

He truly was alright. The danger had passed; he had all five of the bullets. He calmed down and grabbed the man’s arm. Eleanora grabbed the other and they dragged him back to the study. Sebastian was vaguely concerned about the blood trail on the floor that they were leaving and whether-or-not the party guests would see it and be concerned. He also was aware that he should technically be helping Eleanora, as she was an injured lady, but she seemed to be fine. She panted and moved a bit slower than normal, but they got to the study with no further trouble.

Ciel, upon knowing that the gunman wasn’t armed anymore and was now securely tied up, ran back to the ballroom to reassure the concerned guests (who had heard the gunshots) and to find Madam Red to attend to Eleanora and the gentleman (who had fainted).

Eleanora leaned against the wall, far away from the tied-up would-be assassin and watched the butler. He was standing in front of the fire, examining the silver bullets that he had taken from the man. She wondered why he was so worried about them; he treated them delicately, as if he was afraid that they would kill him.

He slid a fingernail around the bullet and the top actually popped off.

“No way,” she thought. “It’s hollow?”

He turned the bullet upside-down over the fire and very fine, white powder fell out of it and he shuddered. He did this with every bullet and disposed the now-empty hollow silver shells into the fire as well. Then he turned to Eleanora.

“Does it hurt?” he asked in a surprisingly gentle voice.

“What? Oh…No, it doesn’t. I’ve been shot before; this is a remarkably simple wound,” she told him.

Sebastian nodded and then the Madam and the Earl entered. Madam Red saw to Eleanora, fussing over her, while Ciel questioned her.

“You spilled that champagne intentionally, didn’t you?”

“Yes sir, I did.”

“Why?”

“Because…” she trailed off; everyone was looking at her; it was so awkward… “Because I saw that young man enter your study and put a tack on your chair.”

The Earl did not look impressed.

“That’s what this is all about? A tack?”

“My Lord, someone tried to kill her when she tried to tell you,” Sebastian said. He felt as if he should defend the woman. “I think it’s worth examining.”

“Well, then, go on and examine it.”

The butler bowed and went to the chair, coming back with the tack. He smelled it, frowned, carefully licked the tip and looked shocked. He quickly spat into the fire (Eleanora noticed that the fire blazed instead of sizzling, which was odd) and carefully set the tack on the desk.

“It’s poisoned, my Lord.”

“P-Poisoned?” the gentleman squeaked, who had just regained consciousness. “Th-That’s impossible; it can’t be poisoned; it was just a harmless little prank…”

“It’s a very slow-acting poison,” the butler said. “You probably wouldn’t have realized that you had been poisoned until sometime later this evening…And without proper medical care, you would have been dead by morning.”

“‘Dead by morning?’” Madam Red gasped and hugged Eleanora. “You dear, you darling dear, you saved my nephew’s life!”

“Saved his life? I wouldn’t go that far, my lady; I really was just lucky…”

“The perfect crime,” Ciel muttered. “I would just play it off as a harmless joke and would have explained the illness as something else entirely. Then I would be dead by morning, with no evidence and no witness. But why did you decide to do it?” he turned to the gentleman, who blushed.

“I-It was just a joke, my Lord,” he mumbled. “Someone got the idea of putting a tack on your chair and then someone gave me the tack and so I…”

“…But who told you to do it? Who gave you the tack?”

“My Lord, I don’t remember!” the gentleman said and burst into tears.

“Sebastian, call the Yard,” Ciel sighed. “Tell them to apprehend these two.”

Sebastian nodded and left the room.

“And you, Eleanora,” Ciel said, turning to the maid. “You did very well this evening. Have Madam Red examine you and then you can take the rest of the night off.”

“But sir…the ball…”

“We have other servants and besides, I’m not really much in the mood for a party now,” Ciel said. “I think I’ll cut this ball a little short. You go with Madam Red and get treated.”

Eleanora rose with assistance and dropped a small curtsey. She left with Madam Red. A few minutes later, Sebastian came back with the news that the Yard would be arriving shortly, and within a few minutes of that, both the gentleman and the gunman had been apprehended, leaving the Earl and his butler alone.

Ciel sat down in front of the fireplace; he wasn’t sure he could trust a chair ever again.

“Sebastian?”

“Yes sir.”

“The maid was really clever wasn’t she?”

“Yes sir.”

“I mean, she successfully faked dumping champagne on us to get both of us out of the party and somewhere more private so that we could talk.”

“Yes sir.”

“And she’s a good fighter,” Ciel continued. “She took a gunshot, no problem, and was able to help you with that man. And she’s knowledgeable in the bad parts of town—information that could prove useful time and again.”

“Yes sir.”

“Sebastian?”

“Yes sir?”

“I think she’s a valuable asset to Phantomhive.”

“Yes sir.”

“Your orders:”

“Yes sir?”

“I want that girl to work for me. Make her an offer she can’t refuse. I want her tied to Phantomhive for as long as possible.”

“Yes my Lord,” Sebastian bowed and left the room


	14. Chapter 14

It was much easier said than done to get Eleanora to work for Phantomhive. The whole process took about a week and a month. During that first week, Eleanora was assisting the other servants clean up after the ball. She was looking forward to the week’s end—after it was over, she would get to go back to Mrs. Standfield and the middle-class and her boring, wonderful life. But the butler wouldn’t leave her alone, which was very odd and irritating.

He approached her one day, smiling his eerily perfect smile, which was when she realized that something was wrong.

“So, Miss Black,” he said, leaning against the kitchen counter while she prepared lunch, “you’ll be leaving in a week?”

“Yessir.”

“Back to a middle-class life and a middle-class income?”

“Yessir,” she said and sighed in anticipation.

“Wouldn’t you like to stay here and live an upper-class life with an upper-class income?”

“No sir, I wouldn’t like that at all.”

He was back the next day with his promises of more money and more benefits. Eleanora was interested in the money aspect of working at Phantomhive, but working at Phantomhive meant working at Phantomhive, which meant that she would always have to help with balls and parties and assist little bratty stupid Earls zip up their pants and always put herself in danger getting involved in the criminal underworld so she stuck by her earlier principles and refused to work for Phantomhive.

Sebastian was getting desperate. The hand that held the contract started to hurt, the way it always did whenever he defied or put off an order. He had to get this girl working for Phantomhive as quickly as possible, before the real pain started.

It was Eleanora’s last day at Phantomhive and she was preparing her last meal for the Earl. She was humming to herself, barely able to contain her excitement about leaving. Then the butler was there, standing directly behind her, and he leaned into her, pinning her to the counter, and he whispered seductively in her ear,

“You know, Miss Black, there are many other benefits for working here…”

She had screamed and instinctively slapped him and ran off to the Earl.

“What is it? What’s going on?” Ciel had said sleepily. He was just about to go to bed and was starting to get tired.

“Your butler,” Eleanora announced, “is a bloody freakin’ prostitute.”

“I am not!” Sebastian said, arriving behind her, rubbing his cheek. “I was just…”

“He said that he would have sex with me if I worked here,” she said. “That’s an exchange of something for sex, which promptly makes you a whore. The very idea!” she scoffed. “As if I would want to sleep with such an ugly, unpleasant bastard!”

“I’m sorry for his inappropriate conduct,” Ciel said tiredly. “I assure you that it won’t happen again.”

Eleanora curtseyed and excused herself. Normally she would have put up more of a fight, but as she was leaving tomorrow, she thought that it wasn’t worth it.

Ciel glared at Sebastian, who just looked at him.

“…Am I really ugly?” he said.

“What were you thinking?” Ciel exploded. “You should have known that she wouldn’t have jumped for seduction. Plus she hates you. Were you even thinking?”

“I thought that it would work,” he mumbled. “It usually does.”

“Well, this time, it didn’t,” Ciel said and sighed. “Listen,” he said coldly. “I don’t care what you do, I don’t care how you do it, I want her inextricably tied to Phantomhive, and I want it done as soon as possible. Do I make myself clear? That is an order.”

Sebastian bowed and left the room, thinking of how he would accomplish such a thing. He rubbed the hand with the contract on it. It was starting to burn.

About three days had passed since Eleanora had left Phantomhive. Everyone—servants and bosses alike—had wanted to know everything about it. She had given them the bare minimum, didn’t add details, and wisely cut all the parts out about the attempted murder and getting shot.

It was late; the sun was setting; she had been out in the market, buying some more ingredients for dinner. She looked around and smiled. The air in London was never particularly clean, but it seemed to smell a bit sweeter this evening. Probably because she was free. Free from Phantomhive forever! She would never have to go back. She smiled and sighed and passed a dark alleyway…

A hand shot out from the alley, grabbed her mouth, and pulled her into the darkness. She tried to scream and struggle but then another hand pressed a knife against her throat and a vaguely-familiar voice hissed in her ear,

“Don’t struggle. Don’t scream. Or else I’ll kill you.”

She relaxed and forced herself to stay calm. The person pressed her against the wall and quickly ran their hand around her, feeling into all of her pockets. She calmed down even more.

“Oh,” she thought, unable to control her relief. “I’m just being robbed.”

But she wasn’t just being robbed. The mysterious unknown removed all of the weapons that she had on her: the switchblade knife in her pocket, the gun tucked into her garter, the other switchblade in her bosom…And once she was completely free of her weapons, the person grabbed her waist and forced her to keep walking, assuring her that if she screamed, he would slit her throat. She believed him; the knife was still pressed against her neck.

They walked for quite a long time; she wondered what he wanted to do to her and whether she would live or not. Then they suddenly stopped and the person blindfolded her. She shuddered and couldn’t restrain a small whimper. She was probably being taken to some cult hideout where they would beat her, have their way with her, then do it all again before killing her.

The person forced her to walk again and after some time, she heard her steps echoing. The ground had changed; she was now walking on marble. She wished she knew where she was and what was going to happen to her.

And suddenly the person stopped her and let her go, standing next to her, but the knife tip was slightly jammed into her side, warning her not to run.

Then someone else standing in front of them started singing, singing in a strange language, a language that vaguely resembled Latin. They sang for a while and then they asked something in this language and then the person standing next to her sang something as well:

“Su facio.”

Then the first person who sang posed another question and the person next to her jabbed her side with the knife and hissed into her ear,

“Repeat it: su facio.”

She hesitantly repeated it, trying to sing it as well:

“S-Su facio.”

The first person sang some more and then there was scribbling sounds and then a pen was shoved into Eleanora’s hand.

“Sign,” the knife person hissed again.

She was about to comply when she paused.

“Wait, but what am I signing?”

The knife was jammed in again.

“Sign!”

“But what am I signing?”

“Just sign!”

“I won’t sign unless I know what I’m signing!”

Something heavy smacked her head and she was knocked unconscious. When she woke up, she was in some kind of stone prison. The bed was just a smooth slab of stone; there was a table and two chairs in the room; a piece of parchment and a quill and inkstand were on the table. There were about three or so women dressed like nuns in the room, watching her sullenly. There was a man in the darkness, playing with one of her switchblades, who stepped into the light upon realizing that she was awake. Eleanora’s eyes narrowed.

“You.”

“Me,” Sebastian said simply. “Please understand that I take absolutely no pleasure from doing this. I am strictly following my young Master’s orders. If you’d just sign the paper, we can all go home.”

Eleanora hesitantly stood up, swaying a bit from the blow that she had received. One of the nuns stepped forward and assisted her to the table, where she sat down.

The paper was written in some strange language that she couldn’t read. There were two lines at the bottom for signatures: one of the blanks had already been filled in, the other was waiting her name.

“I won’t sign unless I know what this is,” she said sulkily.

Sebastian frowned at her and rubbed his hand, as if it pained him.

“…I can’t tell you,” he said finally.

“Why not?”

“Because if I tell you, then you won’t sign.”

“Then tough luck, mister,” Eleanora said, trying to stand up. But one of the nuns violently pushed her chair into the table while the other two chained her hands to the surface of the table.

“What’s going on? Why are you doing this?” Eleanora asked, trying to free herself.

“I told you, I’m merely following my young Master’s orders. He wants you inextricably tied to Phantomhive. If you sign this,” he gestured to the paper, “then you will be, and we can all leave.”

“I don’t want to be bound to Phantomhive,” she growled. “Tell your Earl to leave me alone.”

“The Earl isn’t one to accept ‘no’ for an answer. Neither am I. Just sign the paper and make this simple.”

Eleanora told him in no uncertain terms where he could shove the paper and his young Master.

“So you won’t make it easy?” he asked resignedly when she was done.

She shook her head and tried to scoot away from the paper.

“So be it,” he said tiredly and gestured to one of the nuns.

And suddenly Eleanora was missing her right thumb.

The nun who had done the deed wiped the knife with a cloth while another one jammed a lit candle at the stub to cauterize the wound. Eleanora couldn’t stop screaming.

Eventually she ran out of air and stared up at Sebastian with pained, fearful, rage-filled eyes.

“Why are you doing this?” she whispered, trying to control her hysteria. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Just sign the paper and it’ll all be done with.”

“N-No.”

And now she was missing the tip of her pointer finger.

Sebastian sighed and began to leave the room.

“Keep at it,” he called over his shoulder, “until she agrees to sign the contract.”

The nuns bowed and turned to Eleanora, who was screaming and shouting expletives at the receding butler.

He was gone and she was left alone with the hellish nuns.

“P-Please,” she whispered as one of them approached with the knife, “p-please don’t do this to me…”

“We have our orders,” the nun said dully.

“It would all be over if you’d just sign the paper,” another nun said sympathetically.

“That’s right,” the third said. “Just sign and you can leave.”

“N-no.”

By the time the sun rose, Eleanora no longer had a right hand.


	15. Chapter 15

A month had almost passed and Eleanora still wasn’t working for Phantomhive. In fact, she didn’t even seem to be working anywhere. Ciel had called her previous employers, but they had said that they hadn’t seen her in weeks. She had just vanished—no two weeks’ notice, no resignation letters, nothing. Just gone.

Ciel was pretty sure that his butler had something to do with it. Sebastian seemed to get more and more stressed and irritated as the month wore on. Eventually, Ciel got so impatient that he decided to confront him:

“Sebastian, where is Eleanora?”

Sebastian flinched a bit, as if hearing her name pained him.

“She’s…preoccupied.”

“Are you convincing her to work for Phantomhive?”

“Working on it, my Lord.”

“Good,” Ciel nodded and went back to his work. He thought about something and then looked up again. “Sebastian?”

“…Yes?”

“I forgot to ask—how exactly are you convincing her?”

“I’m afraid that’s…private.”

“Oh,” Ciel said, wondering what it was, but his butler didn’t seem inclined to talk about it. “Well, is it something that I would approve of?”

“I think so, my Lord—if you really thought about it.”

“Oh. Well, if I would approve of it…”

Sebastian nodded and left the room to see to dinner. He was getting more and more—what was that word? Frustrated? Yes, that was it—he was frustrated. His hand with the contract pained him more and more with every day and that wretched idiot still refused to sign. He probably could have upped the tortures, but then he might be crossing the line of what the young Master “approved of.”

But then again, maybe not. After all, it had only been a little while ago when the young Master had ordered that mansion filled with those children to be burned down. He hadn’t lied when he said that he might’ve “approved it.” If he really thought about it—and was in a listening mood—and if he was a little drunk—or maybe a lot drunk—he definitely would approve of his methods. He hadn’t lied. He hadn’t lied at all. Lord, he loved loopholes.

But there was still the issue of the girl. She still refused to sign.

He sighed and thought about how to get her to sign. He was trying everything that he thought was fairly decent. He could be doing much worse to her—much, much worse. But what could break her?

She eventually did break. Surprisingly, she cracked not due to Sebastian, but from something else entirely.

Eleanora was in hell. She had heard of phantom limbs, and in her sickest moments, she knew that she still had her right arm and her right foot. She could feel them; she could touch them. But then another nun would approach and there would be pain and she would flash back to reality—horrible, grim reality—and remember where she was and what they were doing to her.

“I don’t deserve this,” she remembered thinking, over and over again. “I did nothing to deserve this.”

Then there would be pain again.

“Kill me…Please kill me…”

Everything hurt—her head, her leg, the place where her arm used to be—but then came the worst pain of all. Between bouts of agony, she was furious. She knew that it was coming—it always came—but why now? This was adding insult to injury. On the plus side, the nuns took one look at what was happening and seemed completely at a loss. They were so shocked that they were forced to call him—that damned butler.

Sebastian arrived shortly after the phone call. He had been forced to sneak away at night and wasn’t in a good mood.

“Well? Has she agreed yet?”

The nuns shook their heads.

“N-No sir…”

“Then why did you call me here?”

“Sir, there’s something wrong…”

He frowned at Eleanora, lying on the stone bench. She was missing her right arm and her right leg up to her knee. She was filthy and feverish and kept on moaning in pain.

“What’s wrong with her?”

“Sir, she’s bleeding…”

“Cauterize it, then.”

“Sir, she’s bleeding in the wrong area…”

He frowned deeper and approached the woman. She was in a delirium and didn’t realize that he was there. One of the nuns grabbed her leg while the other grabbed her stump and they opened them up. Sebastian winced at the smell, looked, and almost fainted. The nuns were right—she was indeed bleeding.

“Is that—That’s not—That’s not normal, is it?” Sebastian choked. “I mean…That never happened to any one of you, right?”

“Never, sir,” the nuns said, equally terrified at the unnatural event.

“Do you suppose…that she’s…dying?” one of the nuns whispered. Sebastian almost fainted again.

“Dying? She can’t die!” His hand with the contract blazed with pain and he clutched it. “She can’t die. If she dies…” If she dies, I’ll have disobeyed an order. “Get it out.”

“S-Sir?”

“Get out whatever is causing this and make sure that she lives!”

Eleanora started screaming.

The head nun came in the next day, looking absolutely furious. Sebastian was there, sitting next to her, gently touching the scar on her lower stomach.

“You—idiot,” the head nun hissed. Sebastian looked up.

“Mother?”

“You idiot,” she hissed again, stomping forward and wrenching him away from Eleanora. “You complete and utter idiot. What did you do to this poor girl last night?”

“Sh-She was bleeding last night, Mother,” one of the nuns whimpered. “W-We took it out…”

“Put it back in,” the Mother hissed. “Put it back in immediately! And you…” she thrust a book into Sebastian’s hands—Anatomy of the Human Female—“educate yourself, you twit.”

She whirled around and stomped back upstairs.

Eleanora started screaming again.

A month had officially passed and she began to whimper.

“F-Fine,” she whispered.

The closest nun leaned in.

“What?”

“F-Fine,” she whispered again, “I’ll sign…I’ll sign…”

Sebastian was called again and the ceremony was repeated. He had to hold up Eleanora—partly because of her missing leg, and partly because she was so sick she couldn’t stand up on her own.

The Mother conducted the ceremony, frowning at Sebastian the whole time, making him shift around uncomfortably. She had agreed to him using the church’s basement, but that didn’t mean she approved of his methods. Eventually she asked the question and he answered.

“Su facio.”

She asked the question, gently this time, to Eleanora, who whimpered it out:

“S-Su facio...”

A new contract was brought forward and both of them signed it. The Mother said something and then repeated it in English:

“You may kiss the bride.”

Eleanora felt a spurt of anger.

“That’s what all this was about? A stupid freakin’ wedding? Who the !!! is getting married?”

She felt something slide onto her left ring finger and then warm lips pressed against hers.

“Oh,” she thought. “Oh, oh, oh.”

The world was growing dim…

“Well, shit.”

And then she blacked out.


	16. Chapter 16

Eleanora woke up about a day after the wedding and wondered what was wrong. It took her a while until she figured it out: she was completely fine.

A month of fever and sickness and pain had rattled her nerves so much that when she was absolutely healthy, she could hardly believe it. She s-l-o-w-l-y sat up, moaning softly to herself. Her body ached and her head hurt and for some reason she couldn’t feel her left arm.

At first she thought that it had been amputated, but it was still attached to her body, and it was the right arm that they had taken off, not the left one. They had been smart—keeping her writing hand intact and all.

She groaned and rubbed her left arm, trying to feel it. Then she realized something else—she had her right arm again.

She wiggled her toes and stared down at herself. Both legs were perfectly intact.

She examined her right arm—absolutely fine. As if it had never left. The only difference was that there were red marks everywhere, but they looked as if they would quickly fade. She shuddered at them. The marks indicated where they had taken things off—they proved that what had happened wasn’t a nightmare. She gently touched the marks. They didn’t seem to hurt; the arm didn’t pain her; but then again, touching it wasn’t reliable as her left arm was still absolutely numb.

Her right arm had been investigated; she moved on to the left one. It didn’t have any red marks; no trace of anything being removed. But for some reason, there was a ring on her left ring finger. It was a beautiful ring: made out of some kind of smooth black metal and imbedded with small slivers of rubies, so that it glistened like embers from a dying fire. She ran her right arm up her left one, feeling for anything else out of place, and noticed something on her upper arm: some kind of symbol. It looked like a pentagram, but there was writing all around it. It looked incredibly detailed and she strained to read the words: ton…te…tra…Nonsense words. Some kind of practical joke, probably. But why couldn’t she feel her arm?

“You’re awake?”

She jumped and whirled around. The butler—that damned butler—was walking down the steps towards her cell, carrying a tray.

“We were wondering when you would wake up,” he commented, setting the tray on the table. “The Mother said that if you never did, I would be unbaptized and kicked out of the Church. I’m relieved to see that you made it out okay.”

Eleanora could have said several things to this. She could have asked him what kind of a churchgoer was he, if he thought that it was alright to torture young women for no reason. She could have sarcastically said something about how important it was for him to remain a member of the church, much more important than the safety and well-being of a young woman. She could have told him where to shove his so-called “relief.” However, she was too angry to say anything. And also—she hated to admit it—she was scared. Maybe if she insulted him, the tortures would begin again. She did not want that to happen.

The tray had some porridge, some tea, some water, and a small briefcase on it. He removed the briefcase and set the tray down on her lap.

“You should eat something; you’ve gotten thin.”

“And whose fault was that?” Eleanora said. She didn’t remember much, but she weakly recalled the nuns putting IVs in her remaining arm and giving her nutrients so they wouldn’t have to actually feed her.

Sebastian shrugged and opened the briefcase. It was filled with vials and syringes.

“I didn’t want to have to do it,” he said quietly, “but you’re just so stubborn.”

He filled a syringe with something from one of the vials and held his hand out.

“Here, give me your arm.”

She scooted away from him, protectively clutching her right one. He rolled his eyes.

“Here, let me—” And he grabbed her left one.

“What is it? What are you doing? What are you putting into me?!”

He injected whatever-it-was into her arm and now she really couldn’t feel her arm.

“It’s a simple numbing solution,” Sebastian said, tossing aside the syringe and the now-empty vial. “You’ll have to inject it into your left arm once every twenty-four hours for a month. That should be enough time…”

Eleanora told him where he could shove his injections and threw the tray at him. He easily dodged the flying food and stood up, reclosing the briefcase.

“If you’re ready, we can leave.”

She stood up rapidly and almost fell down. She had been lying down for a month and had lost one of her legs, so it was quite a shock to suddenly stand. Sebastian grabbed her to try to steady her but she shoved him aside and fell down on the floor. He looked down at her pityingly.

“We won’t get anywhere if you won’t accept my help. Here, let me—”

Eleanora slapped his hand away and told him where he could shove his help, as well as other things too impolite to repeat. Sebastian withstood her barrage quietly and didn’t help her as she staggered to her feet and then stumbled up the stairs. By the time they had left the church, she was walking normally.

Ah, the relief of being alive! The sheer joy of having limbs! The wonderful feeling of movement! She would never take anything for granted ever again. She wanted to run—and run she did, because Sebastian was still following her.

He kept up with her easily, and when she paused to take a breather he jogged up next to her.

“I don’t think that you’re ready yet,” he said, looking at her with concern. She looked so pale and thin and weak…“I’ll call us a cab.”

“Shall I tell you where you can shove your cab?”

“Oh—No thank you.”

She told him anyway, along with other things. Again he stood quietly.

“Well don’t just stand there, you !!!!!!!!!!!, say something!”

“Like what?” he said tiredly. “What could I possibly say?”

“That’s right; you can’t say anything.” But she could, and if they were in America, she would have used up her right to free speech.

“Are you sure you don’t want a cab?” he asked her when she was done and she resumed her panting.

“No. I don’t want anything from you.”

“It’s really no problem; I can get one and I’ll pay for it and…”

Eleanora whirled around, eyes blazing with fury.

“Let me make one thing crystal clear to you:” she snarled, “I. Hate. You. And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll go away forever and leave me alone and never bother me again.”

“But how can I do that?” he said. “We’re inextricably bound to each other for all eternity.”

“What?”

“We’re married,” he said, removing his glove and lifting his hand. There was a symbol on his hand: the same symbol that was now on Eleanora’s upper arm. On his left ring finger was a wedding ring. It looked almost exactly like Eleanora’s, same black metal, only instead of having slivers of rubies in his, he had deep blue sapphires. “We’re married, so even if I wanted to leave you alone forever, I can’t.”

“Why not? You go that way and I’ll go this way and then…”

“…I’m bound under contract,” he said. “We both are. We signed a marriage contract—I can’t break it. So sorry, but you’re stuck with me.”

Eleanora blinked at him. He was about to offer a cab again when she jumped him.

He kicked her off a few seconds later, after he had gotten over the shock of being attacked. His cheeks were scratched and both of his eyes were black and his nose was severely bleeding. Eleanora leaned against the wall, wiping tears off of her cheeks.

“I hate you,” she whispered. “I hate you.”

“…Aren’t you even going to ask why I did such a thing?”

“I don’t need to ask,” she said. “I never want to talk to you ever again. I never want to look at you ever again. And if you dare to follow me, I’ll take a rusty lead pipe and tear you a new one with it.”

Normally Sebastian would have scoffed at this threat, but she seemed pretty serious. He allowed her to leave in peace and spent several minutes on the ground, staring up at the sky before he realized how late it was and how he really should be getting back to Phantomhive.


	17. Chapter 17

Eleanora had ignored all of the questions when she arrived at Mrs. Standfield’s. She had curtseyed respectfully and listened patiently to all of the lady’s reproaches, and the whole thing took about three hours, but she still had her job after it was over. Mrs. Standfield claimed that it was because good help was hard to find, but Eleanora thought that it was because she was being pursued by the Earl of Phantomhive—Mrs. Standfield said that he had called about three times wondering where she was, a fact that she brought up every three seconds.

The servants were even more insufferable than Mrs. Standfield. They would not shut up, and quite a lot of attention was placed on Eleanora’s new ring; they all wanted to know where she had gotten it and who had given it to her; it looked much too expensive for her to buy on a humble maid’s wage. Nobody questioned the strange symbol on her upper arm because Eleanora had had the foresight to tear a strip of her dress and wrap it up, like a bandage, with the excuse that she had tripped and had accidently hurt herself.

She went to bed late; there were quite a lot of things that she had to do after Mrs. Standfield’s lecture. She wearily trod up the stairs to the attic, where she and the other maids slept. There was a briefcase on her bed; she opened it without thinking.

It contained numerous syringes, filled with liquid. There was a note waiting for her—a note in oddly familiar, elegant black handwriting:

To be injected into the left arm, once every twenty-four hours.

There was a note towards the bottom that had been crossed out, and then rewritten.

I’m sorry.

Eleanora swore and tossed the briefcase full of syringes out the window. She knew that they would be picked up and put in the garbage tomorrow. She checked everywhere in her room, making sure that there was no one hiding in her room, watching her, ready to inject something else into her arm. After making sure that she was well and truly alone, she flopped down on her bed and promptly fell asleep, too exhausted to even change out of her clothes.

She woke up due to pain, the worst pain that she had ever felt in her life, even worse than when she had been tortured. She thought that she knew pain? Hah! That pain was nothing. Everything hurt, and really, truly everything.

Breathing hurt; the mere act of her chest rising and falling sent spasms of pain running through her body. She tried to roll over and that hurt. She tried to move her arm; that hurt. She tried blinking and that hurt. She tried keeping her eyes closed and apparently her eyelashes had gained three hundred pounds in a night because just having them rest on her cheeks was sheer agony.

She struggled to focus, forcing her mind through the pain, and realized what the cause of the pain was: her upper left arm. Absolutely everything hurt; she could barely stand having a lock of her hair glide across her neck; but moving her left arm was impossible.

She thought that she fainted once or twice while trying to get up and get ready; she remembered standing up and moving around and then she was on the floor, trying to get up again. The whole morning was a type of pain-filled delirium. Later, she would look back and wonder how she had actually managed to drag herself down to the kitchen. She decided that it was due to her stubbornness.

If Eleanora could be described in only two words, they would be “stubborn” and “proud.” These two characteristics could be described as both a blessing and a curse. It was her stubbornness and her pride that forced her not to sign that marriage contract from the get-go—and she lost an arm and half a leg due to it. On the other hand, she was able to continue her work—however half-heartedly—due that same stubbornness and pride, which prevented her from being fired for the time being. But nevertheless, it was still an extremely painful morning; she had actually screamed when Jacob had accidently bumped into her left arm.

But the day got even worse.

The butler arrived at around noon.

There was a knock at the door in the kitchen—the one that led outside, where the businessmen usually entered.

“Come in,” Eleanora called out, trying to cut vegetables using only her right hand, not even bothering to question who it was that had knocked.

And suddenly he was standing next to her, looking a bit awkward.

“H-Hello,” he said.

Eleanora jumped and said something like, “HOLYCHRISTJESUSSHITTAKEONASTICK!” After she had gotten over her initial shock, she said in a far more intelligible voice,

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“I came to see you,” he said, looking with interest at the vegetables. “Is this a bad time? Should I come back later?”

“Yes, come back later. Say—in another century or so?”

“…But I need to talk to you now.”

“…I was being sarcastic.”

“Oh,” he said, looking confused. “Is that…funny? Should I be laughing?”

“!!! off,” she suggested and went back to the vegetables.

He just stood there for a bit, collecting his thoughts, and then he shook his head and focused.

“The Earl of Phantomhive has need of your services.”

“And isn’t that just bully for him?”

“He needs you tonight.”

“Gotten bored of you already?”

“You don’t understand—”

“The real question is, ‘do I want to?’”

“There’s been another murder.”

She paused.

“…Well isn’t that just fan-!!!ing-tastic,” she mumbled, chopping the vegetables with more violence. “Isn’t that just a bundle of joy with a little side of peaches?”

“Is that more sarcasm?” 

“!!! off.”

“The crime was committed in the bad parts of London,” Sebastian continued, choosing to ignore her language. “And don’t you know that place?”

“Like the back of my hand.”

“So you could lead us there and take us back.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s dangerous and the Earl won’t be able to pull it off and I hate you and I’m busy and I said no. Did I mention that I hate you?”

“Yes, you did.” He sighed. “Did I mention the rather large salary that the Earl is willing to pay you?”

Eleanora mumbled obscenities under her breath, mostly about the Earl and his money and where they could go and what they could do there.

“…I take it that you’re not interested in the money?”

“There are several things that I’m willing to do for money. Personally escorting a child Earl into a suicide mission and spending time with his pervert butler never had a chance of making the list.”

“It’s not a suicide mission.”

“Have you ever been to that part of London?”

“N-No…”

“Then you clearly have no idea what you’re talking about, so shut up.”

He looked at her for a moment and sighed in impatience.

“So you really won’t do it?”

“Not in this life.”

“Fine,” he said and leaned against the counter.

“What are you doing? Shouldn’t you be leaving? Don’t you have Earls to take care of, dishes to wash, women to torture?”

“I’m waiting.”

“For what?”

“For another servant to come down.”

She scoffed.

“And then what? You’ll tell on me? ‘Boo-hoo, she’s not doing what I tell her to do; someone get me a butcher knife; this bitch just lost her fingers?’ Get real. You can’t do anything to me now; this is a public place. I’ll have witnesses.”

“I’m not planning on cutting off your fingers.”

“Then what will you do?”

“I’ll tell them that you’re married.”

Eleanora froze.

“…You’ll what?”

“I’ll tell them that you’re married,” he said calmly, crossing his arms, “and that for that month that you were missing, you were on your honeymoon, doing…things. And you know what’ll happen next—you’ll get fired. No one likes a married maid, after all.”

Eleanora stared straight in front of her, looking like a statue.

“I’ll go,” she said quietly.

“What?”

“I said I’ll go!” she shouted, tears in her eyes. “I’ll be there at eight. Now get out of here!”

Sebastian did a courteous bow.

“Your sacrifices will not go unrewarded,” he said and left.

Eleanora slumped down to the floor and instantly regretted it. Her rear came in contact with the floor and that hurt. The tears ran down her face and that hurt. And her stupid left arm still burned like hell.

She stared up at the ceiling and tried to pray to whoever was listening.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please…Help me. Get me out of this mess. Please…I’ll do anything…Please…”

But no one came to help her, and at seven-thirty she got ready and began the journey to Phantomhive.


	18. Chapter 18

Eleanora arrived at eight, just as she had promised. Sebastian was relieved to see her; for a moment, he thought that she had decided to run away and he would have had to go out and find her.

She was dressed in a tattered black dress with a thin black shawl draped over her shoulders. Her shoes didn’t match, had holes, and were clearly several sizes too small for her. She had let her hair down, so it fell to the small of her back in soft curls.

Ciel stepped forward.

“Hello,” he called out as she approached. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“Likewise,” she said quietly. She didn’t seem to have the energy to be sarcastic—just tired.

Eleanora bit back a whimper. She had had to change her clothes for this fool’s mission, which resulted in her jolting her left arm around, and it still hurt. But never mind that; the faster she got this done, the faster she could go home.

“Why don’t you go and get ready and then we can leave.”

Ciel blinked at her.

“…But we are ready. See? I changed my clothes.”

He was wearing some patched-up pants, a shirt that was too big for him, a brown vest, a newsboy’s cap, and instead of the usual black eyepatch, he had a white one with four strings.

“…What the hell are you supposed to be? Oliver Twist?”

“What? You don’t like it?”

“It’s cute for Halloween, but you wouldn’t last ten seconds in the East End.”

“Why not?”

“Because you look too good! You think that all the kids in the East End wander around in fancy boots like that? Go back and see if you can find something more…tattered. Something that clearly wasn’t made for you.”

Ciel obediently ran back to the manor, anxious to get the show on the road, leaving Sebastian and Eleanora alone outside.

They just stood there in silence, Eleanora staring out into space, Sebastian thinking of something to say.

“…Eleanora?” he finally said.

“Don’t call me that,” she said coldly. “You’ve lost the privilege of calling me ‘Eleanora.’”

“Miss Black, then,” Sebastian said. “Did you…get the briefcase?”

“I got it.”

“Have you been using it?”

“No.”

“…Did you use it tonight?”

“…No.”

“…I imagine that you’re in quite a lot of pain, then,” Sebastian said icily. “Wait here.”

He went back into the manor and came out a minute later with a syringe.

“Give me your arm—the left one.”

Eleanora winced but held her arm out anyway. She screamed when he took it and screamed even louder when he injected it. But her arm went numb within seconds, and she didn’t feel any side-effects, so perhaps it was necessary. After all, she couldn’t go around screaming in the East End when people would bump into her—which they undoubtedly would do.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, pulling her sleeve down so that the pentagram was hidden.

Silence resumed.

“…Did you get the note?” he finally asked.

“I got it.”

“Did you read it?”

“Read it.”

“All of it?”

“Yes.”

“Even the bottom part?” he said softly.

She scoffed.

“Because I meant it, you know.”

“I’m sure that you did.”

“I’m serious.”

“I’m sure.”

“Miss Black,” he said seriously, “I never intended on hurting you. I just wanted you to sign.”

“What—you’re that desperate to lose your virginity that you would force a woman—who you just met and barely know—to marry you? That’s just sick.”

Sebastian was about to reply but the young Master was returning.

“I didn’t find anything,” he panted. “This is the best that we can do!”

“Great,” Eleanora sighed and looked at them both. The butler hadn’t changed at all—he still wore his black overcoat and butler suit. The Earl looked a touch better, but not quite. He still looked like a kid going to a costume party. She knelt down in front of him and felt his shirt. It was made out of high-quality material. She sighed again. This would be fun.

“Firstly,” she said, “take those shoes off.”

“But if I take my shoes off, how will I walk?”

“Using your feet, of course. Take them off.”

The butler knelt down and took his shoes and socks off. Eleanora resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“Now then…”

She took the vest and the hat off and tore a strip off of his shirt.

“Hey—”

She ignored the Earl’s protests and removed his eye patch, tying up his right eye with the strip. She tore off the ends of his pants so that it looked as if he was wearing torn shorts. She paused to admire her handwork—

“Ugh, you still look so clean.”

She tousled his hair and began smearing dirt all over his face and his clothes, making him squirm.

“Don’t wriggle; it’s for your own good.”

She tore some more of his clothing and frowned at him. A nobleman wouldn’t have known him for a fellow aristocrat in years, but the people at the East End would be instantly suspicious of his perfect white skin, devoid of any cuts or scars, and his upright posture and fancy talk.

“Slouch,” she ordered. “Skulk, don’t walk. Shuffle your feet. And talk as crudely as possible.”

Ciel tried and Eleanora couldn’t hold back her eye-roll.

“Now you,” she said, turning to the butler. “Shed as many layers as possible.”

Sebastian winced but obediently removed as much as he could, including shoes and socks, leaving him wearing nothing but a white shirt and black pants.

“You don’t have anything more ragged? Nothing too big, nothing too small?”

“No.”

“Wonderful,” she grumbled and punched him in the eye.

“WHATAREYOUDOING!” Ciel shrieked as he watched his butler fall to the ground.

“He’s too perfect,” she snapped. “You might pass because you’re a child, but a grown man can’t walk around looking like that. He’d be snapped up immediately.”

“‘Snapped up?’ What do you mean?”

“I mean that he’ll be kidnapped and drugged and shipped out to some godforsaken whorehouse to be some bitch’s pleasure slave for all eternity.”

Sebastian licked his lips. “Pleasure slave.” How come he didn’t have one? It sounded positively delightful—He glanced at Eleanora and decided not to say anything; she probably wouldn’t jump at the idea. Besides, they were married—there would be plenty of time for bedroom fun later.

He sighed. He couldn’t think of a woman he found more repulsive. But they had a contract, and the contract must never be broken.

He pressed his hand over his eye. He had healed both of his eyes after Eleanora’s attack yesterday, but they were still a little tender. But he didn’t feel pain; mostly he felt anger. This had to be the third time that she had managed to hit him. He never expected any of it. He had to be prepared. A mere human beating him was despicable.

She ran her nails down his cheeks and tousled his hair. She tore his pants and ripped his shirt a bit and got him as dirty as possible. Then she reached for his gloves and he pulled back.

“What are you doing?” she said irritably. “Take those off.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not? Are they glued to your skin or something?”

“You don’t understand; I can’t…”

She snatched his hands and pulled the gloves off, revealing his black nails and—worst of all—the symbol of the contract. Eleanora was unperturbed; she ripped off some more of his shirt and quickly tied the hand up so that the symbol wasn’t visible.

“Take this off,” she said, tapping his wedding ring.

“What? Why? I can’t.”

“Why not? I took mine off.”

Sebastian stared at her.

“…You what?”

“I took it off.”

“Why?!”

“Because if I took it into the East End it would get stolen and I hate looking at it anyway.”

“You didn’t…throw it away…did you?”

“Of course not.”

She wouldn’t toss a ring into the garbage without a good reason. Rings were good—they could be pawned for big money.

Sebastian glared at her and hesitantly removed his ring. The ring was a sign of the contract—removing the ring meant that the contract was at risk of being broken. And she had just taken it off with absolutely no respect for what it meant! He wanted to tell her that he hated her, but he couldn’t in front of the young Master. That would be unprofessional.

“Alright, now try and talk for me. Be as crude and as low-class as possible.”

If Ciel was bad at it, Sebastian was even worse. Eleanora pressed her hand against her forehead.

“Alright, new plan: you will not talk as much as possible,” she said, pointing to the Earl, “and you,” pointing to Sebastian, “will not be talking at all. Understood?”

They nodded.

“Okay, I think that we’re ready. As ready as we’ll ever be,” she mumbled. “Now, when we’re in the East End, you do as I say, and you do it immediately. Got it?” She glared at them all and they nodded and mumbled agreements.

“Alright,” she sighed. “God help me; let’s get this freak show on the road.”


	19. Chapter 19

Ciel had thought that Eleanora had been exaggerating when she kept on stressing the dangers of the East End. The East End was a bit dark and a bit disturbing, but not absolutely frightening. He was feeling rather confident and when he shared a look with Sebastian, he knew that he felt the same. Eleanora had just been exaggerating. They were absolutely fine.

And then she stopped at the entrance to a very dark alley.

“’Ere we are,” she said in a coarse voice. “Remember wot I tol youse.”

Then she strode inside without a second thought.

And Ciel realized just what a place the East End was.

It was crowded and filthy and chock-full of poverty. People lay on their sides in the streets, slowly dying of starvation and disease and no one even looked at them. There were rats the size of cats, eating the dead and occasionally the living—the living who didn’t even have the energy left to fight back; all they could do was moan. People grumbled, they swore, they shoved each other, they drank, they smoke…Ciel had never known that such disgusting people even existed.

Sebastian was having a hard time of it too. Several men wanted to start a fight with him and Eleanora constantly had to extricate himself from the grips of desperate prostitutes.

“Cum ‘ere, pumkin, ten shilling a night…”

“!!! off, ‘ore, ‘e’s mine,” Eleanora would growl, shoving them aside.

“’E’s too good for jus one bitch; cum on, now, share the wealth…”

Eleanora actually broke a prostitute’s nose trying to tear Sebastian away from her crib. Then she dragged him away, muttering obscenities and snarling at anyone who got too close. Ciel grabbed her hand and refused to let go. His feet were getting cut on the shards of broken glass bottles and he stumbled a lot on the uneven ground, but his terror took his mind off of everything else. He wanted to find the scene of the murder and then leave. He gripped her hand tighter; at any other time it would seem childish, but Eleanora seemed to be the only safe choice in this world of danger.

Sebastian himself was looking a little ill. Everyone smelled of alcohol and he was a little rattled by all the prostitutes. He looked at Eleanora with grudging respect; she wasn’t the best woman but compared to those prostitutes, she seemed like a sint.

“Where’d you say this crime was?” Eleanora whispered to Ciel.

“Uh…Some place called Sam’s Slum.”

She nodded and strode off, practically dragging Ciel behind her, with Sebastian behind.

They found the scene of the crime; it wasn’t too difficult as everyone was looking at the dead body. They pushed their way to the front and Ciel and Sebastian investigated, with Eleanora looking around cautiously.

Ciel couldn’t even tell that the corpse had been a nobleman at some point. Poverty-stricken people had picked the body clean, so that all that was left was a naked man who had clearly been violently murdered.

“What do you think?” he whispered to Sebastian, who was looking rather green. The stench of alcohol was overwhelming.

“I think…” he whispered back, “that there’s nothing left here to examine.”

Ciel nodded and stood up. What evidence there might have been was gone, probably already in a pawnshop. He gestured to Eleanora and took her hand again and they began making their way out of the East End.

The outskirts of the East End were much better than the interior. Ciel was starting to relax and Sebastian had regained his normal color. Eleanora was more at ease and began telling Ciel stories of her youth, entertaining him with wild escapades and daring robberies and several humorous anecdotes about times when she messed up and almost died. It was incredibly interesting to Ciel but darkly tragic to Sebastian.

“This woman,” he thought, looking at her pallid face and skeletal body, “has suffered more than most humans have and ever will.”

Again he felt respect for her, only this time, there was no grudging.

She stopped around half-an-hour later.

“Wait here,” she said and began entering a building.

“Where are you going?” Ciel called out.

“That’s private. Don’t go anywhere or do anything stupid.”

And she was gone.

Sebastian and Ciel looked around, thinking their own private thoughts. Sebastian thought about Eleanora and her life and how he had treated her. Besides from respect, he was starting to feel something else—little twitches of it, so it could hardly be called a “feeling,” but it was still present and he didn’t like it. He kind of hopped up; his feet were getting cold.

And suddenly there was a nasally laugh behind him. He whirled around, keeping the young Master behind him.

Five young men stepped out of the shadows, the leader having short blonde-and-brown hair and a cocky smile. They all had strange gardening tools. They all had green eyes. They all wore glasses.

Grim Reapers.

“So the perpetrator returns to the scene of the crime!” the leader announced, causing the other reapers to laugh. “I knew that if we hung out here long enough, a certain demon would appear. You’re all the same—can’t resist the smell of a soul, can you?”

“What do you want?” Sebastian said in a soft, dangerous tone.

“We weren’t doing anything,” Ciel said, offended. “We were just investigating and now we’re leaving.”

The leader laughed again.

“How dumb do you think we are?” he said mockingly. “Everyone knows that the demon has something to do with those murders.”

“What?” Ciel said, looking up at Sebastian, whose eyes narrowed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said quietly.

“Oh really? Then explain why all the dead nobles are missing their souls.”

“I don’t know anything about that.”

“We’ll see,” the leader said cryptically and pulled out a gun. Ciel smirked. Reapers trying to kill a demon with a gun. Typical mistake. He knew that Sebastian was almost impervious to bullets.

“Unfortunately, our boss Will wants you alive,” the leader sighed, “so we can’t exactly kill you. But we have to get you back to him somehow, and the best way is to handicap you. So sorry that I’m not sorry about this,” he grinned and shot Sebastian in the stomach.

Ciel laughed.

“Are you kidding? Do you know how many times he’s been shot? I’ve seen him get shot a million times and nothing ever came out of it—Sebastian, get them!”

There was no movement.

“Sebastian?”

He turned to look at his butler.

Sebastian’s face had grown horribly pale; he was making little choking sounds and clutching his side, where the bullet had hit him. The reaper leader grinned.

“Scary, isn’t it, demon? I’ve never had the privilege of being poisoned, so I don’t know what it’s like, but I hope it’s really terrible.”

Sebastian choked in response; the hole started bleeding profusely. Ciel looked around in confusion and shock.

“Wh-What are you doing? Sebastian, go get them!”

Sebastian took a step forward and promptly collapsed. Ciel knelt down beside him and began shaking his shoulder.

“Oh, you didn’t know, kid?” the leader said. “Demons aren’t immune to silver bullets.”

He held up a silver bullet—exactly the same as the ones that had been burnt back in Phantomhive—and began loading his gun with it, while the reapers behind him howled with laughter.

“Sorry, demon, but you’re coming with us,” the leader said, aiming at Sebastian.

And then there was a loud sound; the leader staggered and then fell to the ground, unconscious. The other reapers looked around—

“Hey, what the—”

And Eleanora began hitting them.

She had found a wooden board and had crept up behind the reapers without them noticing her and was now beating them as hard as she could. Once she was sure that they wouldn’t be getting up in a while, she ran forward, slung Sebastian’s arm over her shoulder, and they ran away, the reapers screaming behind them.

“My glasses! She broke my glasses!”

“What is it?” Eleanora panted as they ran. “Who were those guys? Why are they trying to kill us?”

“I—don’t—know,” Ciel said through gritted teeth. “But can you help Sebastian?”

The butler groaned and pressed his side. Blood was still spurting out.

“I can’t fix him like this,” Eleanora said, looking around. “There!” She ducked into another alleyway and stopped at a small hovel. “My Lord, do you have a gun?”

“N-No…”

“Then take mine; it’s in my pocket…”

Ciel reached into her pocket and brought out a small handgun.

“Now get in there and order everyone inside to evict or suffer the deadly consequences.”

Ciel entered the shack and exited a few minutes later, looking confused.

“They just laughed at me and someone told me to wait my turn.”

Eleanora rolled her eyes and dumped Sebastian into his arms.

“Oh, for the love of—Here, let me.”

She grabbed her gun and burst into the room, shouting. There were two gunshots and then a naked prostitute wrapped in a dirty sheet and a half-naked man ran out into the street and away from the crib.

Eleanora opened the door.

“Here, get him inside and on the bed.”

Ciel did so and Eleanora took Sebastian’s shirt off.

Eleanora had seen blood poisoning in her life before. It wasn’t pretty—the veins black and spidery, the pressure to fix it immediately…This was the oddest case of blood poisoning she had ever seen, so strange that she wasn’t even sure that it was blood poisoning, which was absolutely ridiculous because it couldn’t possibly have been anything else.

The veins around the bullet wound had turned a ghastly white and were steadily spreading across his body. Sebastian groaned and blood spurted out of the hole, faster than could possibly be healthy. His blood was odd too—in certain lights, it looked almost black and was unnaturally liquidy for blood.

He groaned and there came another spurt, and with that spurt came something else: some kind of silver disk.

Eleanora examined the disk; why did it look so familiar? Her mind flashed back to that night at Phantomhive; the one where the Earl had almost died…Of course! The butler had been dismantling hollow silver bullets in the fireplace; the disk looked like the top of one of them.

“My Lord, was he shot with a silver bullet?”

“Y-Yes, I think so…”

“Shit,” Eleanora said cheerfully.

“Is that bad?”

“I think so,” she said. “Get me that bottle on the nightstand.”

Ciel got the bottle and Eleanora uncorked it and smelled the contents. Cheap vodka. Perfect.

“This might sting a little,” she told Sebastian and poured the alcohol on the wound to disinfect it.

Sebastian screamed, making Ciel jump back. He had worked with the butler for practically two years and he had never heard him scream before. In fact, he had never seen him like this before. He had never known that a demon could have such a weakness and behave in such a way.

The alcohol hadn’t helped at all. Rather, it seemed to have made things worse. The white veins were spreading faster and his skin looked burnt.

“I…don’t think we’ll be trying that again,” she said hesitantly. “My Lord, stoke up the fire and get it as hot as possible. Quick!”

Ciel had never really stoked a fire before, but he knelt by the tiny fireplace and did his best, awkwardly using the nearby bellows to make the embers crackle and burn. Meanwhile, Eleanora was trying to stem the blood flow.

“Shit.”

“What is it? What’s happening?”

“Nothing; nothing; everything’s just peaches and !!!ing roses,” Eleanora mumbled and removed her shawl. “My Lord, do you have any spare layers?”

“…I have a shirt.”

“Take it off and give it to me, quick. Is the fire hot?”

“I think so,” Ciel said, struggling with his shirt and eventually just ripping it off his body.

“Get those tongs and carefully—carefully—bring me the hottest coal.”

Eleanora searched the tiny crib for spare blankets and began wrapping up Sebastian in as many layers as possible. Ciel could see why when he approached her with the red-hot rock.

Sebastian’s lips were steadily turning blue, as well as his fingertips. He was shivering with cold and was freezing to the touch. Eleanora carefully took the tongs and pressed the ember against the wound, causing Sebastian to gasp with pain and then sigh in relief. She handed the tongs and the burnt-up coal back to Ciel.

“Again. Keep the room as hot as possible.”

This process went on for about an hour, with Ciel keeping the fire as hot as possible and handing Eleanora the hottest coals he could find while she would alternate between pressing the coal against the wound to disinfect it and trying to keep the butler as warm as possible.

Eventually he stopped shivering so hard and the wound had mostly-stopped bleeding. The two took a break, leaning against the bed and panting with effort and heat.

“My Lord,” Eleanora said, “I have to get the bullet out of him, but I can’t do it here. I need more advanced tools; I need things to be sterilized; I need a cleaner place to work. And he needs those things too: we can’t just keep him here all night; he needs good blankets and a warm spot by a fire and he needs to be kept as clean as possible. Is there a place nearby that could help us?”

“No…Yes!” Ciel said. “There’s my town house; it shouldn’t be too far away…”

“Can you get us there quickly? I think that those guys are still looking for us…”

“I think so,” Ciel said hesitantly. “Shall we try?”

Eleanora didn’t really want to hear “I think so.” She would much rather have preferred a resounding, “hell yes!” but beggars can’t be choosers. She wrapped up Sebastian as best as she could, wrapped her shawl around his waist for a bandage, and they hobbled out into the night to try and get to the Phantomhive town house.

They got there about half-an-hour later. They would have gotten there faster, but Ciel had gotten lost and it was slow going with Sebastian mostly-unable to walk.

Ciel found the hidden key and opened the door and ran inside, securely locking the door behind them.

“Which room has the largest fireplace?”

“Up the stairs, fourth door to your right!”

“Thank you; do you know where the kitchen is? Run down there, and there should be a medical kit in one of the cupboards. And bring clean water and blankets. Lots of blankets.”

Ciel nodded and ran off while Eleanora partly-carried, partly-dragged Sebastian to the aforementioned room. She rested him in front of the fireplace and dragged all of the blankets and pillows of off the bed in the room, making a type of makeshift bed for him. She made the closest thing to a bonfire as she could in the fireplace and checked the bullet wound. The white was still spreading, only less so now. He was still shivering, but at least his lips had returned to their normal color.

Ciel arrived, pushing in front of him a rolling cart with the medical kit and several bowls filled with warm, clean water. He had gotten as many blankets as he could carry and was dragging them behind him, so he was quite a sight when he entered the room.

Eleanora didn’t dare to use alcohol again; she pressed another coal from the fireplace onto the wound and cleaned up the fallen ash and charcoal using a damp rag. Then she opened the medical kit and got out a pair of tweezers, sterilizing them by putting them in the flames.

“My Lord, hold his hand.”

Ciel immediately did it.

“This might hurt,” she said. Ciel wanted to ask who she was talking to, but by then, she had already stuck the tweezers into the wound.

Sebastian screamed and Ciel screamed because Sebastian started gripping his hand as tight as he could with the pain. Eleanora bit her lip, continued with whatever-she-was doing, and after half a minute or so, she brought out the tweezers with the hollow silver bullet pressed between them.

Everyone sighed with relief. Eleanora bandaged him up and washed her hands in the nearby bathroom while Ciel tried to make Sebastian comfortable. Sebastian, meanwhile, had fainted.

“My Lord, do you know anyone who could help us?” Eleanora asked when she had returned.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, do you know someone with medical expertise? Someone who’s close by?”

“Well, there’s you…”

“My knowledge of medicine is limited,” she said. “I can only do so much. We need a real professional.”

Ciel thought for a moment.

“Well…I do know one person…”

“Great! Do you know how to use a telephone?”

“Yes, I know how to use a telephone.”

“Then go and call them and tell them to be careful getting here; those men might still be out there.”

Ciel left to make his call. Eleanora glanced at Sebastian, then darted off to find some weapons. The men might come back at any time and she wanted to be ready for anything.

“I made my call; he’s coming,” Ciel said several minutes later. They were sitting in front of the roaring fireplace, dressed as scantily as possible due to the heat, but still trying to remain decent. Sebastian was either sleeping or still in a faint; no one could really tell. Eleanora had found some tinned biscuits and some jam in the kitchen, as well as a kettle and some tea bags, and they were eating while waiting for the water to boil.

Eleanora looked at the butler and forced a scornful laugh.

“Huh!”

“What is it?” Ciel asked, looking up from his biscuit.

“Nothing, it’s just funny.”

“What’s so funny?”

“It’s funny that this man just singlehandedly ruined my life and here I am, babying him. It’s funny,” she said and forced another laugh.

“He didn’t ruin your life.”

“Don’t push me, kid; I’m angry at you too,” Eleanora said, glaring at him.

“Me? Why? What did I do?”

“Oh, don’t play all innocent; you know exactly what happened to me. It was done on your orders.”

“My orders?” Ciel thought back. “You mean when I ordered him to bind you to Phantomhive? Are you upset about that? You get vacations and better pay and nicer living conditions; I thought you wouldn’t mind; besides, I need you more than those idiotic middle-classers do…”

“…I notice that you’re conveniently cutting out the tortures and the blackmail.”  
“Tortures? What tortures? What blackmail?”

“You mean you really don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“Know what your butler did to me to get me bound to Phantomhive.”

“What? No! I don’t know anything! Why? What happened?”

Eleanora told him.

For the next half-hour she went into excruciating detail about what Sebastian had done to her in the basement of the church. She showed him her right arm, still decorated with the fading red marks, and told him about the numbing injections and how he had threatened to tell everyone that she was now a married maid. As she talked, she remembered more and more, and even showed the Earl her lower stomach, covered in scars where Sebastian and the nuns had accidently removed her womanly parts only to put them back in again.

Ciel listened in horror and didn’t speak for several minutes after she had finished.

“Eleanora,” he said quietly, “I swear I didn’t know. He didn’t tell me. He said that I would approve of it…Honestly, I didn’t know. I really didn’t know!” He looked up at her. “I swear to you that once he’s recovered, he’s going to get it,” he said seriously. “He’s getting the biggest punishment I can think of.”

“Really? What?”  
“I haven’t thought of it yet,” he confessed, “but trust me, when I do, he will pay. And you can watch! I’ll give you the best seat in the house.”

Eleanora laughed and suddenly sat upright. Ciel listened as well and they both heard it: someone was knocking on the front door.

“That might be my friend,” Ciel said.

“Or it might be those men,” Eleanora said.

They shared a look.

Ciel grabbed a gun and cautiously went downstairs. Eleanora grabbed a rifle and prepared herself for a fight. But time passed and there was no scream or gunshot, and soon the Earl was entering the room, followed by a very strange man.

He was dressed all in black with a grey sash, like a mourner. His long silvery hair covered his eyes, which only pronounced his scarred face. He had several books tucked under his arm as well as a large medical kit.

“Eleanora, this is the Undertaker, a friend of mine,” Ciel said. “Undertaker, this is Miss Eleanora Black. She’s my new maid—and also she’s married to Sebastian.”

The man looked surprised.

“Married to that butler? Oh, no, I don’t envy you at all, my dear! Rather I pity you! Fancy being married to such a man! You’ll get more love from a statue!”

Eleanora laughed awkwardly and they shook hands. The Undertaker knelt by Sebastian, who was beginning to wake up.

“Yes, I know what this is,” he said, becoming professional. He removed his hat and pushed his bangs out of the way, revealing bright green eyes. “Miss Eleanora, could you please run and get me water? I need a lot of water.”

Eleanora nodded and ran off, taking the rolling cart with her.

Ciel kneeled by the Undertaker, who had removed his heavy robe and was putting on glasses.

“Do you know what it is? Is he alright? Will he live?”

“Oh, he’ll live,” the Undertaker said, sanitizing his hands. “It’s angelica poisoning.”

“‘Angelica poisoning?’ What’s that?”

“Angelica is a type of mineral; it’s very prominent in holy medicines. He’s an unholy, which means that he’s the opposite of the holy. And if angelica is a medicine for the holy…”

“…then it’s a poison for the unholy,” Ciel finished. “Is it life-threatening?”

“It is in large doses; how many times has he been shot?”

“Just once, in the stomach.”

“Oh, then he’ll be fine. He’ll be sick for quite some time, but he’ll pull through.” And the Undertaker began removing vials and jars from his medical kit, looking through one of his books.

“What happens with angelica poisoning?”

“Basically, the holy make these hollow silver bullets,” the Undertaker said, “and they fill them up with angelica powder. Then they loosely cover these bullets, so that when it’s fired, the top will come off and the angelica will spill out, entering the bloodstream. Unholy blood is more liquidy than normal blood; it needs to move fast to keep the unholy okay. So once the angelica enters the bloodstream, it will be immediately transported to almost everywhere in the body before the body realizes what’s happening and tries to get it out. And once the body tries to get it all out, the angelica starts working.”

“What does it do?”

“It tries to destroy any unholy material that it finds. The whole body is made out of unholy material, so it’s trying to destroy everything. It’s really damaging and it can take a while for the body to recover and start repairing itself. Did someone take the bullet out?”

“Sebastian’s blood started spurting; that got the top out. Then Eleanora took the body of the bullet out with tweezers.”

The Undertaker whistled.

“Good.”

Then Eleanora entered with the water.

“You did a good job,” the Undertaker told her. “Very nice for a human. He’d be in a much worse condition if you hadn’t been around. Did you try to pour alcohol on this?” he asked, pointing to the wound.

“Y-Yes.”

“That usually works for humans,” he said, “but don’t ever try it again on him. Any form of alcohol is poison to him.”

Sebastian groaned weakly, as if in agreement.

“Now then,” the Undertaker said cheerfully, rolling his shirt sleeves up. “Let’s get started!”  
He concocted various mixtures with the vials and the water, soaking bandages in them, shaking them up and forcing Sebastian to drink them, rubbing certain creams into the wound, which made the butler wince and then sigh with relief. In about half-an-hour, his torso was nicely bandaged and the bleeding had stopped completely.

“There now, that should do it,” the Undertaker said, turning to Eleanora. “Now then, my dear, would you please be so kind as to get a clean bucket?”

“What do we need a bucket for?” Ciel asked.

“I told you, his body will be trying to get the stuff out of his system. The easiest and fastest way to get it out is by using the same path it went in,” he gestured to the bullet wound, “but that would cause him to bleed out, so we can’t allow that. However, he still will be trying to clean himself using other areas of expulsion.”

“‘Other areas of expulsion?’ Like what?”

And then Sebastian vomited.


	20. Chapter 20

Sebastian couldn’t decide on whether or not he was feeling embarrassed or just sick. At first he thought he was embarrassed, but then he vomited again and decided that he was just sick. And to commemorate his decision, he vomited again—right after Eleanora and the Undertaker had finished cleaning him up. Meanwhile, the young Master was helpfully standing in the farthest corner and shouting as loud as he could, “EW!!!”

In all honesty, he thought that Eleanora was being rather nice about the whole thing. She had assured the Undertaker that she could take care of him now, and he and the young Master had sat on the bed in the room and began talking to each other. Eleanora didn’t complain, she didn’t bring up their unusual marriage; when he vomited again, she cleaned it up quickly and easily, and when the Undertaker brought her something to eat, she shared it with Sebastian, and when he threw it up again half-an-hour later, she cleaned that up too.

“Th-Thank you…” he whispered when she was finished.

She shrugged.

“Eh, it’s what I’m here for. You can’t be a proper maid without cleaning up butler vomit at least once in your life.”

He laughed weakly.

“That’s…funny…”

“That’s right; I’m hilarious; now rest and don’t talk.”

He began drifting off into feverish dreams and then waking up again, panting and sweating. Eleanora hadn’t fallen asleep, so whenever he woke up, she was always there, ready to put another hot cloth on his forehead or wrap another blanket around him or just smile.

One time he woke up and saw her tending the fire. Maybe it was the fever or just the general illness or her being so nice to him, but he thought that she was rather pretty. Her black hair slightly curled at the tips and she had such long eyelashes…He felt something stirring in his chest…Something warm and slightly painful…He wondered what new feeling it was and then he threw up again.

“S-Sorry…” he said when Eleanora cleaned everything up again. “I’m s-so s-sorry…”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Ciel and the Undertaker were sitting on the bed, discussing things.

“Why is he so cold?” Ciel asked. “He’s never been that cold before. Why did his lips turn blue and everything?”

The Undertaker was flipping through his medical books.

“It’s a cold fever,” he said. “Demons love heat; regular fevers won’t hurt them. But they can still have fevers, only their fevers come from a decrease in temperature rather than an increase.”

“How do you know so much about demons?”

The Undertaker looked up and grinned.

“We reapers don’t spend all of our time collecting souls, you know. We still need actual working jobs and everything. But I’ve always been interested in the unholy, so once I finished school and got my lawyer degree, I went back and studied unholies and Hell. I’m not as knowledgeable as a real unholy, but I do try.” He looked over at Eleanora, who was humming quietly to herself.

“She’s pretty,” he suddenly said. “Where’d you get her?”

“She worked for a middle-class family,” Ciel said.

“And the butler fell in love with her?”

“Not…exactly.”

And Ciel told him everything—the recent crimes, there being only one witness, his orders, Sebastian’s treatment of her…It was quite embarrassing, but the Undertaker didn’t seem to judge.

“That’s horrible,” he said when Ciel had finished. “He should apologize to her immediately. Look at her! Such a little angel. And so smart too! He had better be begging for forgiveness once he feels better.”

“I think so too,” Ciel said and they spent the rest of the evening pouring over the medical books, discussing the unholies.

Sebastian woke up the next morning feeling very cold and empty. At first he wondered if he had gotten drunk last night but then he tried to move and there was a flash of pain in his head and his side and he remembered everything and he groaned.

Eleanora was leaning against the fireplace. There was a book by her side; she must have been trying to keep herself awake, but she had fallen asleep anyway. When he groaned and shifted around, she woke up with a jolt and rubbed sleep out of her eyes.

“Good morning,” she said tiredly. “How are you feeling?”

He moaned in reply. His head really hurt. But that was good; pain meant that his brain had gotten damaged by the angelica and it was now healing. He didn’t want to tell this to Eleanora, and thankfully she didn’t ask. He didn’t want her to think that he was brain damaged or something.

The Undertaker had woken up the earliest and came into the room with the rolling cart filled with the foods that he was able to find. While Eleanora and Ciel ate, the Undertaker created a drink from the vials and forced Sebastian to drink it. Sebastian winced a lot as it went down, and when he had finished it, the Undertaker unwrapped the bandages around his torso.

The bullet wound hadn’t healed; it still looked like a big hole in his side, and the skin around it was still deathly white with the angelica poisoning. But his head had stopped hurting, which meant that his brain was fully healed and his body could go on to fix any other damaged organs—as usual, starting with the most important and continuing down to the ones that could wait for another day or so.

The Undertaker began gently pressing around the wound and asking questions while Sebastian made strange noises in reply.

“Does this hurt?”

“Gurgh…”

“Does this hurt?”

“Argth…”  
“Does this hurt?”

“YAAAIIING!”

The Undertaker flipped through his books while Sebastian glared at him, holding his side protectively.

“The organs around the shot have been damaged,” he said, “but everything else seems to be okay. The main area of damage is your stomach; I think that about half of it has been destroyed, but nothing a little rest won’t fix! I think you’re steady enough to go back to the manor.”

Eleanora stood up, stretched, and walked over to the window, where she froze.

“Oh shit,” she said.

“What? What is it?”

“They’re back,” she growled and got her rifle.

“They’re back? Who’s back?” the Undertaker looked out the window. Sebastian tried to sit up.

“Those men in glasses,” Eleanora said, loading and checking the gun. “They’re back and they looked pissed.”

She slowly opened the window and stuck the rifle out, just enough to get a good shot, but not enough to be seen.

“What are you going to do?” Ciel asked.

“…I think I’ll try shooting off that little bastard’s glasses. You think I could hit them from here?”

“…I doubt it,” Ciel said, getting a bit excited, “but try it anyway.”

The Undertaker was having difficulty restraining Sebastian; he was trying to get up.

“H-Here, let me, I c-could do it…”

“You get up and this bullet is going through your head,” Eleanora said and Sebastian slumped against the Undertaker’s side with a sigh.

Eleanora steadied herself, aimed, and fired.

She missed, but the shot came close enough so that the leader—the blonde one with a bit of brown—jumped back, tripped, and fell to the ground, breaking his taped-up glasses. Eleanora hissed with pleasure, but then one of the men pointed up at her:

“Look!”

And she swore.

“What is it? What’s going on? What’s happening?”

“…I don’t think that they’re very happy,” Eleanora said, watching with dread as the men tried breaking down the front door. “I think that we have to get out of here as fast as possible.”

“Brilliant! And how are we going to do that?”

“I—don’t—know,” Eleanora said hesitantly, looking around. They had a little kid, an old man, a wounded man, and a maid. This wasn’t looking good. Worst of all, her left arm was beginning to hurt again. “Does anyone have any ideas?”

The Undertaker stood up.

“I have one. It might not work, but I think that we’ll still be able to get out of here.”

The reapers had to pause from breaking the door down. A lot of their glasses had been broken and then poorly fixed; it was difficult to see. One of them sat down and looked moodily across the lawn. Will would not be pleased. And then he saw something crossing the lawn in the distance.

“Hey, who are those guys?”

Everybody else looked. It was hard to see, especially without proper glasses, but eventually it became clear that it was two undertakers and a coffin, riding on a wagon being pulled by an irritated-looking donkey.

“…Do you think that’s them?” one of the reapers asked.

“No, it can’t be,” another one said. “There were three of them before, and now there’s only two.”

“Two plus a dead body,” said another. “Do you suppose the demon died?”

“What?” the leader yelped. “He can’t have died!”

“That’s right; it couldn’t be them,” another said. “Remember that there was a tiny little kid and a woman with the demon, and those are two really big men. It couldn’t possibly be them.”

Madam Red was anxiously waiting outside of Phantomhive. She had found two stacks of clothing—one was Sebastian’s and the other one was pieces of Ciel’s poor-boy costume. She didn’t know where they had gone; Ciel had told her that he would be back by midnight; it was now high noon and they still weren’t back…

A cart pulled by a donkey arrived. The Undertaker was controlling the donkey; he politely raised his hat to Madam Red and grinned.

There was another man sitting at the edge of the cart; he lifted up his hat and her long black hair spilled out…

“Eleanora?” Madam Red said, shocked. “But…where’s Ciel? Where’s Sebastian?”

Eleanora smiled crookedly and lifted up her black undertaker coat. Ciel was sitting in-between her legs, looking very stuffy and awkward.

“Sebastian’s in the coffin,” he told his aunt after she had finished hugging him.

“What’s he doing in a coffin?”

“He isn’t feeling well,” Eleanora said. She and the Undertaker grabbed the coffin and staggered inside until they reached Sebastian’s room. Then they opened the coffin and placed the very weak butler on the bed.

The Undertaker gave Eleanora some more instructions and a bottle filled with the proper antiseptic while Ciel told Madam Red all that had happened to them last night. The Undertaker shook hands, told Sebastian to feel better, and then he left.

Madam Red and Ciel went to talk to Grell. Eleanora sat down at the desk in the butler’s room and smiled. Everything was alright now. She was safe.

And then her left arm started hurting again.


	21. Chapter 21

Sebastian was fully functioning and able to get back to work in a week. He was still rather fragile; he couldn’t eat heavy things and tired easily, but at least all of his organs had repaired themselves and he was up and walking and alive.

He should have known it wouldn’t last.

About half a week after his recovery, he was called into the young Master’s study. He realized that something was wrong when Madam Red, Grell, the young Master, and Eleanora were all there—and they were all looking quite murderous.

Madam Red went first.

Sebastian had to stand there patiently for an hour while she lectured him about marriage and torture and fidelity and all those wretched human things that he really couldn’t care less about but had to listen to anyway.

“You can’t just marry any woman!” she finished. “What about the issues? What if you’re not compatible? You have to agree on the necessaries!”

Sebastian sighed and turned to Eleanora.

“Miss Black.”

“Hm?”

“Do you like…dogs?”

“Dogs?” Eleanora thought about it and made a small face. “N-No, not really. I’ve heard that some dogs are intelligent, but I’ve never really seen one in action. All the dogs that I have met are stupid. And they smell bad. No, I guess I prefer cats to dogs. I much prefer cats.” She nodded decisively.

Sebastian grinned and smirked at the Madam.

“See? We agree on the important things.”

Eleanora looked shocked, which quickly turned into anger.

“That’s your main issue? On whether cats or dogs are better? Are you some kind of moron?”

Sebastian glared at her and she hissed at him.

“Enough,” Ciel said, standing up in his chair. He glared at Sebastian, who stared down at the floor. It was rude to glare at earls, particularly earls that one had a contract with.

So he was silent throughout yet another hour-long lecture.

 

“Such behaviour cannot go unpunished,” Ciel finished. “I didn’t want to punish you while you were injured, but in a way, it’s good that you had been out-of-the-way. It made it easier to choose the best punishment for you.”

He whistled and then something large came bounding in. Something large and white and smelly…

“My Lord, why’s the dog in the manor?” Sebastian said, unable to hide his disgust.

“It’s not a mere dog, it’s a demon hound,” Ciel said, scratching the monstrosity behind its ears. “And his name is Pluto, and you’d better get used to him. For the next month, I want you to personally take care of him.”

Sebastian’s face was the very definition of “horror.”

“My Lord,” he said a bit faintly, “you can’t be serious?”

“I’m dead serious,” Ciel said. “For the next month, you’ll be personally feeding Pluto, walking him, washing him, everything, and at night, he’ll be sleeping in your room, and in the daytime, you’ll be doing your duties with him around. If I catch you disobeying any of these rules, I’ll increase the time period by a day. Is that clear?”

“Y-Yes my Lord,” Sebastian said, but if looks could kill, Eleanora would have died instantly.

And to think that he was actually starting to tolerate her! Her! The traitorous maid! This was all her fault; she had taken things too far and now he was getting punished for it! She had withstood a life in the East End; one would think that she could handle a month of some minor roughing-up; he had fixed her once she had consented, right? Did that mean nothing? He was the one who had ordered the nuns to carefully preserve all of her “bits,” so that when she had consented, they could be reattached and she would be absolutely healed. The marks weren’t even visible anymore! She was fine now, right? It was all over with, right? So why was he getting tortured?

And she had been so kind to him before! She had fallen in a dead faint once they had gotten back to the manor, but that was understandable; such a powerful contract had to be firmly reattached, and that created a lot of pain. And then she had run off back to her pathetic middle-class family, but she had always returned at night to help at the manor and take care of him. She had changed his bandages and made him boiling-hot tea and had kept him as comfortable as possible…And now this! This was sheer betrayal.

He hated her. He hated her! He would never forgive her for this injustice and cruelty. He stalked away from the study with the damned demon mutt running after him, whining obnoxiously and breathing its horrendous-smelling breath and licking his nice, clean gloves…An angry demon is not a fun thing to have around, and if Eleanora had been working at the manor full-time, he would have cheerfully made her life as much of a hell as he could.

But with Sebastian properly healed, Eleanora had naturally assumed that the manor was back in good hands and spent most of her time working at the Standfields, so nobody saw much of her.

The month passed in agony for Sebastian. Once or twice he had “forgotten” to take care of the mutt and Ciel had, as promised, added another two days to the punishment. He tried to muzzle the beast, but the young Master didn’t like that, so another day was added on.

But the month and three days eventually finished and the dog was forced back into its kennel and Sebastian spent another two weeks properly sanitizing and disinfecting the manor and all of his clothes and sheets and furniture. He deeply regretted behaving so rashly. He wished that he had never married that traitorous witch. He would hate her until Judgement Day.

He nodded to himself and sterilized his gloves for the fiftieth time that day. He was glad that she hated him. They could live in mutual hatred forever. He was so glad that he was a demon. He would never learn to tolerate her.


	22. Chapter 22

Eleanora was having significant difficulties. It took an hour to get to Phantomhive, and that was if one rode in a carriage. She couldn’t afford a cab every night, so she always had to leave Mrs. Standfield early and walk the two hours, in the dark, to Phantomhive, and then walk another two hours, in the dark, back to the Standfields. She wasn’t getting enough time to sleep.

Then there was the fact that the Earl had decided to throw another big ball, despite the fact that the last one he had resulted in him almost getting murdered. And as the other servants were more of a hazard than a help, that meant that Eleanora was really necessary. She worked all night at Phantomhive, helping to prepare for this ball.

And then Mrs. Standfield, upon hearing that the Earl of Phantomhive was having a party, also decided to have one. So that meant that every day she was working full-time at the Standfields, polishing silver, cleaning the house, looking up recipes to use for the big day.

Her days and her nights were absolutely occupied. All her thoughts went into these two parties:

“Buy the chicken, polish the banisters, wash the floors, look up spices, go to the tailor’s, do the laundry, iron the tablecloths…”

And then there was all of her regular duties as a maid. Make meals, take care of masters and mistresses, always be polite and don’t fall asleep on the job.

The butler was coolly ignorant of her. Eleanora didn’t know what he did at night, because he didn’t seem to sleep, but whenever she entered Phantomhive every night, there would be a list of things for her to do on the kitchen table. She vaguely wondered if he was still unhappy about the whole dog-thing. It wasn’t her fault; she hadn’t been the one to suggest the dog. She didn’t know that he hated dogs that much! But it didn’t matter; she had far more pressing matters to attend to than whether or not the damned butler liked her or not.

She was getting very, very tired. Before, she had managed to catch some sleep at mealtimes or have a half-hour to spare in the very early mornings, but with the parties fast approaching their deadlines, there wasn’t even enough time for that. Mrs. Standfield seemed to have forgotten that servants needed to eat and got angry whenever she saw them sneaking a bit of bread. The lists on the kitchen table grew longer and longer every night.

In the daytime, the Phantomhive servants were preoccupied with keeping the manor up and running with normal work: making meals, washing laundry, the usual. They were all doing as best as they could because Sebastian had not been happy these past couple of weeks. Sebastian, meanwhile, was assisting with the ball. He discussed invitations with the young Master and a couple of times tried to teach him how to dance, a practice which he very quickly gave up. He gave almost no thought to Eleanora because they never saw each other. During the nights he would be sent out to investigate the murders of nobles. The young Master was especially concerned about the information that the reapers had inadvertently given them: all of the dead nobles were missing their souls.

Whenever he did think about her, Sebastian thought that the whole thing was terribly convenient. Leave a list of things he hadn’t been able to do on the kitchen table; come back in the morning; everything would be done! It was like that fairy-tale story about the naked perverts who would break into a house and do everything in the night…Or it went something like that; he wasn’t much familiar with human stories.

One night he came home earlier than usual and began wandering around the manor, thinking if there was something he had to do. He absentmindedly peeked into the ballroom as he passed, paused, and then entered.

Eleanora was lying on the floor in a dead faint.

“Wonderful,” he thought. “Just right when we need it.”

He kneeled down next to her and wondered what to do when women fainted. He had read somewhere that fainting was usually due to too-tight corsets, and the best thing to do was to loosen them. But then again, Eleanora probably wouldn’t be appreciative of him tearing her dress and fiddling with her undergarments.

He had heard of smelling salts, but he didn’t know where they were and didn’t want to find them. Then there was pouring cold water and slapping the cheeks. He didn’t want to make the floor all wet, so he decided to do the cheek thing.

“Miss Black,” he said, gently slapping on her cheeks. “Miss Black. Wake up. You’ve fainted. Wake up, Miss Black.”

Eleanora groaned; her eyes fluttered open and then closed again.

“Miss Black,” he said in a firmer voice. He began hitting her a bit harder. “Miss Black, wake up.”

She groaned again and her lips began to move. He bent down to hear better:

“Choose the fine wine, clean the windows, repair the dresses, dust the china, buy new crystal glasses, beat the carpets…”

He had never told Eleanora to beat the carpets or repair the dresses. Where was she getting that from? Probably from that middle-class family. Figures that they would also want to throw a party.

He began patting her cheeks again.

“Miss Black—Miss Black—Miss Black—Miss Black—Wake up!”

Eleanora’s eyes blearily opened. She slowly looked around and then focused on Sebastian’s face.

“What…?” she murmured.

“You’ve fainted,” Sebastian said. “Get up.”

She stood up with Sebastian’s assistance. She had to lean against him for a time, breathing hard.

“Are you feeling alright?” he asked her.

“Fine…” she sighed.

“Loosen your corset,” he told her and then left.

She had been able to finish the jobs and had started the long, weary trek back to London. Sebastian called the Standfields in the middle of the day to ask if she had gotten home alright.

They said that she had and then he hung up. There, he had done his duty. She was fine. She had probably just fallen asleep. There was no cause for alarm. She would be just fine.


	23. Chapter 23

Something clicked in Eleanora’s mind once she had arrived back at the Standfields’. She had fainted in Phantomhive—truly undignified, and worse, it was absolutely unprofessional. She couldn’t risk doing that again. She suffered through another day of torture and party-planning (not that there was much of a difference between the two) and at night, instead of going to Phantomhive, she went upstairs to her room and flopped down on her rickety iron bed. She vaguely thought about Phantomhive, and whether-or-not they would be expecting her, but she decided that taking a night off wouldn’t do anybody any harm. She had worked hard. She deserved a night’s rest. She yawned and closed her eyes and within seconds was dead to the world.

Sebastian had left the list of things that Eleanora had to do on the kitchen table, as usual. He was incredibly disappointed—bordering on “angry”—when he returned and realized that nothing had gotten done. It was as if she had never bothered to come at all. How rude!

He wondered why she hadn’t come. Perhaps it had something to do with her fainting? But she had been just fine afterwards. But maybe fainting was a big deal in the human world. He sighed and quickly completed the tasks he had originally meant for Eleanora. He would give her that night—that was all. He expected her back this night.

Eleanora had been forced to wake up early, just like all the maids, but she felt much better than she had in ages. It was amazing what a good sleep could do. But apparently Mrs. Standfield hadn’t slept well that night, because she woke up in a perfectly foul temper and decided at the last minute that everything about her party was wrong. Everything had to be changed, and changed immediately.

The servants were forced to work long into the night just to have a prayer of everything going smoothly. The masters, of course, had gone to bed at a decent hour and only woke up to yell at the servants to keep it down; some people needed their sleep here!

Sebastian had spent several hours pacing the kitchen at Phantomhive. He had decided to stay tonight for a while just to make sure that she was truly coming. The clocks in the mansion struck twelve and she still hadn’t appeared. That was it. He didn’t care that it was late; she had to be here, and she had to be here directly. He was on a schedule.

He called the Standfields’. Bella the maid picked up.

“Hello?”

“Hello; is Miss Black there?”

“Who?”

“Eleanora.”

“Who?”

“…Mary Ann.”

“Oh, her! Yes, she’s here. Do you wanna talk to her?”

“No, just give her a message. Tell her that she needs to go directly back to Phantomhive.”

Bella shouted out the message to Eleanora, who was trying to make a decent strawberry cake for the very first time. She shouted back that she was busy and she couldn’t make it; she’d try to come tomorrow night. Bella relayed this message back to Sebastian, tactfully cutting out all the swear words.

“I don’t care about her excuses,” Sebastian said coldly. “Tell her to come here immediately or…I’ll tell.”

“You’ll tell? Tell what?”

“Just give her the message.”

Bella shouted it to Eleanora, but one of the footmen had accidently set something on fire and Eleanora had to go douse it. All she heard was Bella shouting at her, and she shouted something back accordingly.

“She said to !!! off,” Bella told Sebastian.

“I see,” Sebastian said and fell silent. The maid stood around awkwardly, wondering what else to say. “Then, in the morning,” he finally said, “could you kindly tell Mrs. Standfield something?”

“Certainly; what?”

“Tell her that, in the month of her absence, Eleanora was getting married.” Then he hung up.

The maid stood there, shocked, her mouth open. Eleanora—married?! But that was impossible! She was so ugly and crass and everything…There must be some mistake!

Eleanora swore in the kitchen and Bella peeked at her. She had spilled some strawberry sauce on her long white gloves that she had suddenly started wearing and tore off the left one.

There was a ring on her left ring finger—a beautiful black wedding ring.

Bella gasped and ran upstairs to Mrs. Standfield. This couldn’t wait until morning. Eleanora was married! Married without permission! Absolutely disgraceful. She would get fired for this.

Eleanora slipped her white glove on again, blissfully unaware of the ax that was about to fall on her head.


	24. Chapter 24

Sebastian regretted telling the Standfields about Eleanora’s marital status. Now that they knew, he had nothing to blackmail her with. That was the problem with blackmail: it became ineffective the moment it was used.

He deeply wished that he had some other form of dirt on her. She hadn’t been at the Phantomhives for a week. They had had to do the party without her. It went off alright, but it would have gone much smoother if she had been there. He tried calling the Standfields to ask about her, but they insisted that they didn’t know anything about her and hung up.

Eleanora appeared a day after the party. She was wearing her ragged old black dress with the too-tight shoes. It was raining; she was shivering. She had knocked on the kitchen door and Sebastian had opened it. No one else was around.

She looked shocked, shocked and cold. Sebastian was also surprised to see her, but quickly masked it. She was undoubtedly angry at him for telling, and had refused to help with the party as a form of petty revenge.

“Hello, Miss Black,” he said. “Would you like to come in from the rain?”

She weakly shook her head. She looked thin; she must not have been eating well.

“What is it, then?” he asked, trying not to lose his patience.

“I got fired,” she said in a dull voice, as if even now she could hardly believe it.

“Fired? From where? Who fired you?” This was genuinely surprising news. But then again, maybe not so surprising. Her employers probably just got tired of her language.

“You fired me,” she said, still in that scary, lifeless voice. “You told them that I was married and they fired me.”

“They didn’t!”

“They did,” she said and brought out an envelope. “If you would kindly please give this to the Earl of Phantomhive.”

He took it and examined it.

“Certainly. What is it?”

“It’s a letter of resignation. Tell him not to bother with a letter of recommendation.”

“What?” He looked at her. “Surely you aren’t thinking of quitting?”

“I’ve already finished thinking,” she said and brought out a ring. “And you take this. Save it for a real wife. I thought that I could pawn it, but I realize now that it’s not worth shit. Good evening, sir. Sorry to bother you.”

 

She turned and strode into the darkness and into the rain.

Sebastian pocketed the envelope and looked at the ring. It was made out of black metal and studded with ruby slivers—it was Eleanora’s wedding ring.

Ideas raced through his mind faster than he could keep up with them—she’s been fired; fired because I said that she was married; she’s resigning from Phantomhive; she’s given me her wedding ring…—but the first real thought that came to his mind was, “The young Master is going to kill me.”

“Wait,” he choked out. “Wait!”

He peered into the rain, but he was too late. Eleanora was gone.

The Earl was not pleased with the news.

“She quit?!” he shouted at Sebastian. “How could she quit? How could you let her quit? Why did she quit? You go and find her and directly bring her back here!”

“Well, I’m glad that she’s gone!” Grell suddenly said. “The nerve of that girl—bursting in here and marrying my precious Bassy…”

“She didn’t marry me,” Sebastian murmured. “I married her.” He had her wedding ring in his pocket; he couldn’t stop turning it over in his fingers. “There’s a difference.”

“I don’t care! I’m so glad that Bassy’s single again!” Grell twirled around and gripped Sebastian’s arm, making him shudder.

“Who cares about whether he’s single or not?! I want that girl back, and I want her back now!”

“Ciel!” Madam Red said sharply. “That’s enough.”

“But—”

“That poor girl. Forced to marry a man she doesn’t love, then having to work two different jobs at the same time…It’s enough to drive anyone away! I’m surprised she didn’t leave sooner. You won’t go around chasing her. She’s suffered more than enough.”

“But…I need her.”

“You’ve gone several years without her,” she said sternly. “You can go back to that time.”

Ciel scowled but didn’t give Sebastian any orders.

The servants asked a couple of questions about what happened to that Miss Black, but he refused to answer. Although nobody said anything, it was decided unanimously anyway that the maid who was “Eleanora” would slowly slip into oblivion on its own. No one would ever mention her willingly again.


	25. Chapter 25

The Yard contacted Ciel with the confessions of those two men; the men that had killed the noble; the men who had committed the crime that Eleanora had witnessed: the men who had started it all. Sebastian couldn’t help but hate them. If it hadn’t been for them, Eleanora would never have lef—no, they never would have met. That’s right. It didn’t matter that Eleanora had left. The trouble had started when they had first met. That was it. He shook his head to clear away thoughts of her and tried to put the ring away. It was still evilly lurking in his pocket, despite his numerous efforts to put it away, someplace far, far away where he would never have to see it again. He didn’t dare dispose of it permanently; after all, their contract still remained. The rings were a sign of that contract. And the contract must never be broken.

The young Master was calling for him. Some new information about the case. He sighed and put her ring on his desk in his room. He turned to leave, paused, and slipped the ring back into his pocket. He really should get rid of it. He would do it this evening directly.

It was good that the contract only prohibited him from speaking lies, not thinking them, or else he wouldn’t have been able to think at all.

The men had said that they had been paid to kill the noble in a bar in the East End. Some hooded man had approached them, bought them a couple of drinks, they had played several rounds of poker (the stranger had lost, perhaps on purpose) and then the man had suggested a way of them making it rich. All they had to do was kill someone and make it look like an accident. Easy-peasy.

The men had said that they had seen the stranger again at that very same bar, talking to some different men, every Monday. Monday was tomorrow. If they had any hope of apprehending the man responsible for the murders, it would be tomorrow.

“But that would mean journeying back to the East End, wouldn’t it, my Lord?” Sebastian said tiredly.

“Well…yes.”

“If you recall the last time we were in that vicinity, we were woefully unprepared. The only thing that got us through was—” He trailed off and looked away.

“…It was Eleanora,” Ciel finished. “She had gotten us in and out. Do you think that we could do it again without her?”

“Certainly. It shouldn’t be too hard.”

“But you just said that we were woefully unprepared.”

“My Lord,” Sebastian said, smiling a little thinly, “this bar that the men mentioned isn’t as far into the East End as last time. Besides, I’m fully capable of protecting myself—and you,” he said as an afterthought.

“What if the reapers come back?”

“They won’t come back. The bar will be crowded. They wouldn’t dare to make a move.” “I hope,” he thought, remembering the angelica poisoning.

Ciel thought about it and decided that it would be worth it after all. They got dressed, trying to look as shabby as possible, remembering Eleanora’s earlier instructions. They set out towards the East End, but Sebastian ended up carrying Ciel, who was barefoot and very quickly got tired of hurting his feet on the rough ground.

The bar, as Sebastian had predicted, was incredibly crowded. There was a line—or rather a mad throng—pushing to get inside. Sebastian had been able to shove his way through, carrying Ciel, but eventually he had to put him down. There were too many people to carry a child safely.

There was a brawler at the front door, stopping people from entering and shouting a lot. Sebastian and Ciel inched towards the door and Ciel was just about to slip inside when the brawler’s arm shot out and stopped him.

“No minors!” the man shouted. “That or they pay double.”

“I’m terribly sorry,” Ciel said seriously, forgetting that he was supposed to be a ragamuffin, “but this is an emergency; I must get inside…”

Again the brawler stopped him.

“Not without a toll.”

“But it’s an emergency!”

“Hell if I care!”

The brawler’s voice was vaguely familiar. Ciel peeked up at his face and gasped.

“Eleanora?!”


	26. Chapter 26

Eleanora scowled down at Ciel. She was wearing a large hat that hid her hair and was rather dirty. She was wearing loose men’s clothes and was speaking in a much deeper, hoarser voice than usual. Someone wouldn’t have been able to tell that it was Eleanora if they hadn’t taken a second look at her. Ciel was incredibly pleased to see her; he probably would have hugged her legs if he hadn’t been in a hurry to get inside and if he wasn’t so dignified.

“Eleanora,” he said, trying to make his voice steady while still trying to shout over the throng, “please. We need to get inside.”

“Pay first,” she said, shoving her hand into his chest.

“But don’t you recognize me?” Ciel cried and then realized that yes, she did recognize them, which was why she was behaving like that. Her face continued to scowl yet her eyes darted around the crowd nervously. If she had acted as if she had recognized them, it would be the worse for all of them. It was safer to treat them as if they were nobodies.

Sebastian accordingly stepped forward and shoved several coins into Eleanora’s hand. She dropped her arm, allowing them to dart inside, and then her arm shot up again to prevent anyone else from getting inside.

“Pay up, you little mother—”

Ciel didn’t hear the last word right because Sebastian had quickly hurried him away.

They really needed a brawler waiting outside the door. The bar was crowded enough as it is; if there had been no one guarding the door, no one would be able to move around. As it was, however, Ciel still kept on being shoved and pressed against legs and someone even spat at him as he scooted past a table. He tried to catch Sebastian’s eye, but the butler was staring intently at the bar.

Sebastian had seen that hooded man that the two men had confessed had talked to him. He was sitting in the darkest corner of the bar. He couldn’t tell what species he was; there were too many other souls in the building for him to properly tell.

“Young Master,” he said, trying to be quiet but still having to shout to be heard, “I’ve found what I believe to be the aforementioned man.”

“WHAT?!”

“I’m going to go and talk to him,” Sebastian said grimly and strode forward, leaving Ciel alone in the drunken throng.

“WHAT?! WHAT’S HAPPENING? WHERE ARE YOU GOING? COME BACK!”

Either Sebastian hadn’t heard him or he wanted to make Ciel suffer a little bit, but he continued forcing his way towards the bar. Ciel tried to follow, only there were too many people forcing him back, laughing, swearing, blowing their disgusting breaths into his mouth…

Someone grabbed him by the shirt and hoisted him up over the masses, shoving him into a corner where there weren’t too many people.

“Now just stay there and shut up,” Eleanora hissed and stalked back to the door, stealing a bottle of alcohol from a table as she went and taking a swig from it.

Sebastian sat down at the bar, a little bit aways from the hooded man but close enough so that they could both see each other. The bartender came over, looking tired, and asked him what he wanted.

“Grenadine,” Sebastian said.

The bartender’s bloodshot eyes widened a bit in surprise.

“Grenadine? You mean…like the syrup?”

“Yes,” he said and placed some money on the counter. “Just the syrup, and put it in a shot glass and leave the bottle.” He slid some more money over to the bartender. “And tear off the label.”

“Y-Yes sir,” the bartender said, taking the money and walking away, looking over at him quizzically. Sebastian ignored him and fingered the ring in his pocket. There was a mirror in the bar; he could clearly see Eleanora in it. She was still yelling and kicking people and taking bribes to enter. Sebastian wondered where she was putting the money and then saw her stealthily pull her shirt collar away from her body and tuck the money down there.

“Oh, that’s naughty,” he thought. “A gentleman really shouldn’t be watching that.” He craned his neck to get a better look and then the bartender brought the grenadine. He had taken the label off, as he had requested. Sebastian nodded and gave the bartender more money. Then he started taking shots of the syrup, downing them one by one while watching Eleanora in the mirror and trying to ignore the hooded man who was now carefully moving closer to him, seat by seat.

“Heavy drinker, eh?” the man said. He was now sitting in the seat next to him. Sebastian turned around and looked at him, easily masking his surprise. The hooded man was speaking in a coarse tone, like the lower-class, only he wasn’t very good at it. It was evident to a sober man that he was upper-class.

Sebastian shrugged and took another shot of the syrup.

“Drink helps a man who’s trying to forget his troubles,” he said, faking a slight drunken slur.

“Oh, you’ve been through troubles then, have you?”

“Oh yes.”

There was a silence; Sebastian realized that the man was waiting for him to elaborate.

“Well, first my wife left me,” he finally said. The hooded man whistled.

“That’s rough, man,” he said. “Did you love her?”

“Of course I did,” Sebastian said, taking another grenadine shot. That was odd; his hand with the contract wasn’t hurting the way it always did whenever he told a lie. Maybe it knew that it was an emergency and that he would feel the pain later. Or maybe the grenadine was numbing the pain. He took another shot. Mm, it was good.

“That’s rough,” the hooded man repeated sympathetically. “Was she pretty?”

“In her own way,” Sebastian admitted. “She had nice eyes.”

“Oh? What color were they?”

“Blue.”

“How blue?”

“Deep blue. Like…like a sapphire. That really deep, intense color.” Sebastian was surprised at himself. It wasn’t like him to remember eye colors, especially eye colors right off the bat. Stress and adrenaline must have sharpened his memory. He would forget what color her eyes were tomorrow.

The man whistled again.

“You still love her, then?”

“I…suppose,” Sebastian said cautiously. All this talk about Eleanora was making him uncomfortable. He didn’t want to reveal anything else about her—or about himself. But the man didn’t seem much interested in his wife.

“You take out your frustration in any way?” the man asked casually, playing with his glass. The man had a bottle of vodka next to him, but Sebastian didn’t smell any alcohol. Also the man was taking shots from the bottle as easily as he was drinking his grenadine.

“He must have filled up a vodka bottle with water,” Sebastian thought. “No human could drink that much vodka in one sitting.”

Sebastian wasn’t really sure what drinking vodka was like—as all alcohol is poison to the unholy—but he had heard that it was really vile and not easy for beginning drinkers. And this man looked like a beginning drinker.

“I did,” Sebastian said, also trying to keep his tone light. “Some men assaulted me and tried to rob me and I beat them all up. Seven of them. It was fun. Made things easier.”

This wasn’t technically a lie; he really had gone against seven men who had tried to rob him. It hadn’t happened recently, but it had happened, and that meant it was a half-truth, so technically not a lie. Demons are good at loopholes like that.

“Really? Seven men?” The hooded man looked impressed. “Hey—I like you. What say we go to the back room and have a friendly round of cards, hm?”

Sebastian grinned and polished off his bottle of grenadine.

“Certainly. But I warn you—I’m pretty good at them.”

“That’s awfully convenient,” the man said, slapping his hand on Sebastian’s shoulder. “Because I’m terrible at them myself.”

Ciel was getting very tired and very sick. The smell of alcohol and dirty bodies was overwhelming. And plus he couldn’t find Sebastian. He had seen him at the bar. First he had talked to the bartender, then he had started gazing very intently at the mirror. Once he even saw him craning his neck to get a better look at something; he probably was trying to find Ciel. Then the bartender brought him a label-less bottle filled with a bright red liquid and Sebastian began downing shots like he had been drinking all of his life. Ciel wasn’t sure what the liquid was, but apparently Sebastian enjoyed drinking it. He hoped that his butler would stay sober enough to concentrate.

Then the hooded man and on the other side of the bar came over and they talked for a while and then the hooded man and Sebastian stood up and went to another room, laughing and talking. The hooded man kept slapping Sebastian on the back and Sebastian looked incredibly triumphant, as if something had gone directly according to his plans.

That had been an hour ago and they hadn’t returned. Ciel shuffled around; his bare feet were getting cold and he wanted to go home.

The bar began to change. People started to mellow out and shuffle outside. Men went upstairs with prostitutes and the bartender began putting up chairs.

“Bar’s closing in ten minutes,” he said to Ciel as he passed.

“Th-Thank you,” Ciel said. “Have you seen a man anywhere?”

“Kid, I’ve seen three thousand just today.”

“He’s outside,” Eleanora sighed, entering the building. “I saw him. Pay up, Jimmy.”

The bartender scowled at her but walked over to the cash register on the bar anyway.

“It’s criminal to make me pay you,” he grumbled. “I’ve seen all the money you’ve pocketed. I shouldn’t have to pay you. You’re making three times as much as I pay you from all the bribes you take.”

“Ah, you can never have not enough money,” Eleanora said, gleefully taking her payment and striding towards the door.

“Wait, that was a bribe? Meaning we didn’t even have to pay? Come back here!” Ciel followed Eleanora out onto the street.

Sebastian was waiting by the side of the building, looking a bit cold.

“Young Master,” he said upon seeing them. “Are you ready to depart?”

“I’ve been ready for hours,” Ciel grumbled, hopping up and down. “Did you find out everything you wanted to know?”

“Yes sir.”

“Then let’s get out of here.”

He looked around and his stomach dropped. It was awfully dark outside.

“E-Eleanora?” he called out.

Eleanora, who had been walking away, looked over her shoulder.

“Hm?”

“Where’s all the gas lights?”

“Can’t afford them,” she said shortly. “Most of us get where we need to be by memory only. Good evening, gentlemen.”

“Sebastian,” Ciel said, turning to his butler, “you remember the way—right?”

Sebastian looked a bit sheepish, slightly sheepish but mostly annoyed.

“I can’t be expected to remember everything.”

Ciel groaned in annoyance and impatience and turned back to Eleanora, who by this time was little more than a shadow in the distance.

“Eleanora!”

“What?”

“You have to escort us back!”

“Ppff, I can’t do that. I don’t remember where the hell you live. And I’m not dumb enough to wander around these parts at night—especially with a bodice full of money.”

“…Then take us with you?”

“Give me one good reason why I should.”

“I’ll give you several,” Sebastian said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bunch of coins, which tantalizingly jingled. Eleanora paused, thinking.

“Follow me and hurry up,” she finally said irritably and strode into the darkness with Ciel and Sebastian behind her.


	27. Chapter 27

“I’m home,” Eleanora said tiredly, entering a small shack. Ciel and Sebastian cautiously followed her in and then Ciel promptly wished to leave again.

Eleanora lived in a crib.

“E-Eleanora,” Ciel squeaked. “You don’t—This isn’t—Are you—?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Eleanora said. “I just share the place.”

“Share it? With whom?”

“Oh, is that you, Mary Ann?” a woman’s voice came from a decayed bed on the other side of the room. “I thought I heard you come in. Who’s your friends?” A prostitute sat up in bed and smiled sleepily at the newcomers, modestly hiding her nakedness with a blanket.

“Forget em, Ida; go back to sleep,” a man said irritably.

“Hello Joe,” Eleanora said. “Having fun with your whore?”

“I had been, until you came in,” Joe said, glaring at her. “The hell you doing ere? I thought you was working elsewhere. Celebrated your exit, I did.”

“So sorry to crush your dreams,” Eleanora said sarcastically. “But I work here now.”

“What? As a bitch? Wouldn’t mind getting a taste o that ass…” Joe grinned sleazily at her rear.

“Touch me and I’ll make you a eunuch and feed you the remains,” Eleanora said sweetly. “Ida, these are our guests. Keep your clients off of them, will you?”

“Certainly,” Ida yawned. “How d’ye do, gents?”

“H-Hello,” Ciel said. “This is where you live?”

It was just a one-room shack with two half-broken beds crammed inside, covered in ratty blankets and worn pillows. There was a rotted desk with a cracked mirror leaning against the wall. One half of the desk was crammed full of makeup and torn gloves and fake gems while the other half just contained a locked box.

“Be grateful; most people don’t have it this good,” Eleanora said, striding over to the desk and unlocking the box.

“‘This good?’”

“You know, for a kid with no place to go, I’m not hearing much in the manner of ‘gratitude.’”

“We’re very grateful,” Sebastian said firmly, interrupting a fuming Ciel. He placed some coins in Eleanora’s hand, much more than he had originally intended to give her. “Thank you so much for your hospitality.”

Eleanora scoffed and tossed the money into the box. It was filled with more money, as well as some random doodads and junk that must have been very precious to her for some reason.

“E-Eleanora?” Ciel whispered, leaning in close to her. “Where’s the restroom?”

“Out that door,” Eleanora gestured to a door on the right. Ciel opened it and looked inside.

“Eleanora, this is an alley,” he said coldly.

“Uh-huh, and you’d better hurry up and do your business before someone notices you.”

Ciel winced but went outside anyway and closed the door behind him.

“By the way, who is this ‘Eleanora?’” Ida asked. “Surely they can’t mean you, Mary Ann?”

Eleanora shrugged and removed her long heavy coat and her hat. She was wearing her usual black dress underneath the coat, but the dress didn’t have long sleeves and so didn’t hide the bruises that dotted her arms.

“What?” she said when she noticed that Sebastian was staring. “You can’t brawl for a night and come out without a scratch.”

She turned around again and quickly slipped off the top of her dress. She leaned over the desk and all of the money that she had collected in the night clattered into the box. She put the top back on and locked the box. The key was on a rope that was tied around her neck, like a necklace.

She sat down heavily on her bed and sighed.

“Aren’t you going to sit down?”

Sebastian silently sat down next to her. The prostitute and the client fooled around for a bit more, slightly muffled because they both wanted to go back to sleep.

“Hey!” Ida said playfully to Sebastian, whose eyes had been wandering around the room. “Wait your turn. Or are you contented with just watching? And here I thought that you were a gentleman!”

“You misunderstand me,” Sebastian said. “I have absolutely no interest in either you or your profession.”

Ida turned bright red and she yanked the covers over her head, muttering “rude ass”. Eleanora nudged him with her elbow.

“Be nice; you’re a guest here.”

“Please forgive me,” he said and instead watched her. She was tracing her calloused hands over her bruised arms and staring gloomily at the floor. “Does it hurt?”

“Does what hurt?”

“Your arms—those bruises.”

“They’re a little sore, but this is nothing. It’ll be worse in the morning. Then I’ll be aching like hell.”

“Why do you brawl, then?”

“Pays the bills.”

“So does being a maid.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, I can’t be a maid anymore. No one wants to hire a married maid.”

“Phantomhive does.”

Eleanora told him where he could shove his Phantomhive.

“But I can’t imagine that you like this kind of life,” Sebastian said. He had already gotten used to Eleanora’s language; it didn’t bother him anymore. “Brawling every night and living with a prostitute…What do you do in the daytime?”

“Eat, mostly,” she shrugged. “I don’t have enough time to eat in the night, so I eat in the daytime.”

“How much sleep do you get at night?”

“Geezus, why do you care?”

“Just wondering.”

“I get enough.”

“But how much?”

“!!! off, Mommy; I don’t need your babying.”

“I was only trying to help,” he said quietly.

Eleanora laughed, a cold, half-forced laugh.

“‘Just trying to help,’” she muttered. “Where the hell was your ‘help’ when I needed you?”

“You needed me?” He was surprised; he never thought that she would ever ‘need’ him. It was a surprisingly nice feeling—to be ‘needed.’

“Of course I did. I needed you to shut up about my marital status—and you told. And now that I don’t need you, now that there’s nothing you can do for me, now you want to help me?” She laughed again. “God, this whole situation is like one bad clichéd joke that nobody got the first time.”

“Don’t say such things,” Sebastian said.

“How can I not say such things? It’s true.”

“It’s not.”

“And how would you know?”

“I just do.”

“Oh, then that must change everything, right?”

“Oy, lovebirds,” Joe shouted from the other bed, “shut up.”

“Shut up, Joe.”

“That’s what I just said…”

Ciel burst into the room, panting.

“That was horrible,” he gasped. “Never again. Never, ever, ever again.”

“But did you do your business?”

“Y-Yes…”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“It was horrible! It was nasty and disgusting and—”

“Never mind; I don’t really want to know,” Eleanora said and stood up with a groan. “You can have the bed, if you like.”

Ciel leapt for it immediately, but Sebastian caught him in midair.

“I think that the lady should get the bed,” he said.

Eleanora looked around.

“A lady? Where?”

“Very funny,” Sebastian said, raising his eyebrow at her.

She was actually confused.

“…I meant you.”

“Oh!...But I’m not a lady. And the Earl should have the bed. That’s fair. That’s healthy.”

“How is it healthy?” Ciel asked.

“Well, I know that, if you don’t get the bed, you’ll spend the whole night whining, so…”

“I do not whine!”

“Of course you don’t,” Eleanora said kindly. “But you should still get the bed. You’re a noble. You don’t know how to sleep on floors.”

Ciel glared at Sebastian, as if daring him to change Eleanora’s mind. Sebastian wasn’t much in the mood to argue, so he just sighed and allowed the young Master to flop down on the bed. Eleanora sat by the door and leaned against the wall. Her eyes closed…

“I’m hungry,” Ciel said.

“Tough,” Eleanora said.

“Aren’t you hungry?”

“Always.”

“Isn’t there food around?”

“Joe ate it all.”

“What?” shouted Joe. “You can’t just blatantly accuse me like that! I have rights! I have—”

“But did you eat all the food?”

“…Yes. But that’s precisely beyond the point here…”

“Joe?”

“Wut?”

“Go back to your whore. Shut him up, Ida.”

Joe looked furious, but Ida whispered something into his ear and he calmed down. They both lay back down and pulled the covers over their heads. Ciel waited until all was quiet and then he whispered.

“Sebastian?”

“Hm?”

“Are we safe here?”

“As safe as anyone can be here, my Lord.”

“You won’t fall asleep, right?”

“No, my Lord.”

“Good,” Ciel sighed and also—somehow—managed to fall asleep on the bed.

Sebastian stood up and sat down next to Eleanora.

“Are you going to go to sleep?” he whispered to her.

She shrugged.

“You should,” he said. She shrugged again and smiled. “What? What is it?”

“Tomorrow,” she whispered, “you’re getting the hell out of here.”

Then she closed her eyes again.


	28. Chapter 28

Eleanora slowly woke up in that way where one feels that they’re waking up, but they also vaguely realize that, if they wanted to, they could go back to sleep again and no one would be the wiser: that nice, comforting, pleasant feeling. She smiled and wrapped her arms around her pillow—it was an odd pillow; it was kind of hard yet kind of soft and it was cylindrical. She buried her face into it…It smelled nice, like lilies. And she was warm, so warm…She hadn’t been this warm in forever. Someone was gently smoothing her hair and that felt so wonderful…She was about to fall asleep when she realized that no one in their right mind would ever actually want to pet her hair so kindly.

Her first thought was that she had died and gone to heaven and an angel was doing it. Her second thought was that she probably wasn’t good enough for heaven so she had died and gone to hell and a demon was doing it, just to mock her. She opened her eyes and saw the half-rotted, dirty floor of the crib and realized that her “pillow” was actually someone’s leg.

She made a sound similar to “YAAIII!” and leapt away, hitting her back against the wall. “Ow…”

“Are you alright?” the butler asked, completely casually, as if he didn’t care that she had just spent the last minute cuddling with his right leg.

“You—Who—What—” she choked out and pulled the coat that had been draped over her shoulders tighter around herself—and then she realized that this was his coat. “Wh-What happened? What’d you do?”

“I did nothing,” he said, still as infuriatingly calm as ever. “You did it yourself.”

“Why? What did I do?”

“You fell asleep,” he said, stretching his arms, “and then you fell down on my lap.”

“And you didn’t wake me up?”

“No.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Firstly, I have decided that you’re the type of woman where waking you up is dangerous to my health. Secondly, I thought that you might need the sleep. And thirdly—” He trailed off, paused, frowned, looked away.

“And thirdly…?”

“Never mind; it’s not important.”

“But isn’t this your coat?”

“It is.”

“Why’d you give it to me?”

“You were shivering.”

“SO?”

“So, as a gentleman, I couldn’t just sit by and allow a lady to freeze.”

“I don’t know what’s funnier: the fact that you think that I’m a lady or that you consider yourself to be a gentleman.”

Eleanora groaned and stood up, tossing the coat aside. Her prediction last night had come true: everything ached.

“Ohhh, what time is it?”

“About noon, I should think.”

“What? Already? You have to leave! Now!”

She yanked the blankets off of her bed and Ciel fell to the floor.

“OW! Wh-What is it? What’s going on?”

“You have to leave,” she said. “Hurry up and get a move on.”

“Why do we have to leave so suddenly?” Ciel yawned. “I’m still tired.”

“Because I want you to get out of here as fast as possible. Come on: move move move!”

In five minutes they were out the door and Eleanora had locked it.

Ciel and Sebastian looked at each other.

“…Do you remember the way out?” Ciel finally asked.

Sebastian blinked, sighed, and knocked on the door.

“Go away,” Eleanora said sulkily.

“Miss Black,” he said sweetly. “We have great need of your assistance again.”

“Go away.”

“We’d be most grateful to you.”

“Go away.”

“And there’ll be a reward for you at the end.”

Silence, and then she opened up the door again, looking marvelously annoyed.

“Fine,” she said icily. “I’ll get you back to your townhouse. But then I never want to see you again.”

“Thank you,” he said, smiling brightly.

“Hm,” Eleanora said and shoved past him. “Well, hurry up; I haven’t got all day!”

Sebastian picked up the bare-footed Ciel and they followed Eleanora through the East End, which was far tamer in the daylight than it was at night.

It didn’t take very long to get from the crib to the townhouse. Ciel was incredibly pleased to be back in proper civilization and demanded a bath right then and there.

Sebastian went inside to get him all set up while Eleanora waited in front of the gates for her payment.

“Sorry for the wait,” he said, coming back out. “The young Master didn’t like the temperature of the water.”

“It’s fine,” she said. “But do you think he’ll be alright?”

“Yes, why?”

“I mean, he’s not going to drown in the bathtub, right?”

“I doubt he’s as stupid as that,” Sebastian assured her and paid her. “But then again, I have been wrong before.”

“Hm,” she said and gave a small smile. He couldn’t tell whether she was smiling because she thought he was amusing or because of the money, but he frankly didn’t care. It was a nice smile either way.

That is, if humans even had nice smiles, which they didn’t. He was just overtired, that was all. It wasn’t that great a smile. And she hadn’t even looked that cute while she was sleeping on his lap. In fact, she hadn’t looked cute at all! Cats were cute. Eleanora was disgusting. End of story.

She was about to pocket the money and thank him when a young man ran by them, so quickly that Sebastian hadn’t even realized that something was wrong until Eleanora shouted,

“HEY! He stole my money!”

Then he promptly sprang into action.

He was behind the young man in two strides, then he leapt up and quickly planted his foot down on his back, pinning him to the ground.

“H-Hey man; I’m sorry, I didn’t mean nothing by it; I’m sorry man; I’m sorry…Hey, HEY! Wait a moment! That’s my money!”

Sebastian had recovered Eleanora’s payment and, as a bonus, had also deftly taken the man’s wallet.

“You’d better leave,” he said coolly, stepping off of the man’s back, “and get out of here before I call the police.”

The man opened up his mouth to protest, saw the expression on Sebastian’s face, and then decided that it wasn’t worth it. He ran off, sobbing.

Sebastian watched him go, and then turned back to Eleanora.

“Here,” he said, giving her money back to her, “and, a dividend.” He gave her the wallet.

Eleanora was staring at him wide-eyed.

“That was…That was…”

“Yes?”

“That was…amazing…” she said, and for the first time, she looked at him with respect and—dare he think it?—admiration. “That was just…wow. That was incredible! You were amazing!”

“Oh—Thank you,” Sebastian said, suddenly feeling very awkward but also very pleased with himself.

“Well…Goodbye,” she said, giving him a real, genuine smile. “Thank you for everything.”

She sauntered off. Sebastian watched her leave.

“That’s odd,” he thought. “She seems to be moving in slow-motion.”

And someone, somewhere, was playing a nice piece of classical music.

And he felt strangely light and ecstatic, as if he was walking on air, which was completely ridiculous. But for the rest of the day, absolutely nothing bothered him. The young Master whined and complained; the servants ruined things, as usual; but he still remained utterly at peace and the light feeling never left him.

“I’m just tired,” he told himself over and over. “I’m just overtired. Some rest and I’ll feel normal again.”

But he subconsciously realized that deep down, he didn’t want to feel “normal” again. He wanted to remain like this forever.

But he would be fine in the morning. Everything would be fine in the morning.

He lay down on his bed for a quick half-hour or so of rest. The last thing he thought about before he fell asleep was Eleanora’s smile.


	29. Chapter 29

The target was the son of an Earl; Master Wallace W. Wallace. Ciel didn’t dare to ask what the “W” stood for.

The hooded man had taken Sebastian to a back room, where they had played several rounds of poker. Sebastian won them all.

He probably would have won them all anyway (he was a pretty good card player), but there was something off about the way the hooded man was playing: he was playing specifically to lose.

Sebastian could “see” the cards; as well as knowing his own ones, he knew the cards of his opponent as well as all of the remaining cards in the deck. He could switch them around at will and simultaneously confuse or erase his opponent’s mind so that they wouldn’t be able to remember that they had the Ace of Spades—a card which was now safely in Sebastian’s hand. Even he wasn’t entirely sure why he had this ability; perhaps it was because cards were the “Devil’s picture book.” It was a handy trick; one which had helped him more times than he could count.

But he hadn’t had to use his ability in those games in that back room. He saw the hooded man’s cards, of course, but he also saw how the man played.

If he could quote Eleanora, he “sucked.”

He had gotten a pretty decent hand every now and then, but he always discarded his best cards, kept his worst cards, kept on increasing the pot, and always seemed surprised whenever Sebastian would beat him.

Normally Sebastian would chalk up such a terrible card player to simple human stupidity, but he recalled that the two men who had confessed also said that they had gone to a back room with the hooded man and had played several rounds of cards—all of which the men had won.

The hooded man kept on making light, casual conversation; simple pleasantries which Sebastian had always hated.

“So, what do you do for a living?”

“How’s your job?”

“How’s your life?”

“Anything exciting happen today?”

“Have any pets?”

Sebastian was so desperate to have the hooded man—again, to quote Eleanora—“shut up” that he spent hour and a half talking about cats, which seemed to seriously disturb him. But still, nothing daunted, he continued asking all sorts of polite, meaningless questions:

“How much are you paid?”

“You have a nice boss?”

“Where are you from?”

“Nice weather over there?”

Sebastian once tried to play badly, just to see how the hooded man would react. He never hesitated; he just kept playing worse than he did. It was all very weird and irritating, but Sebastian was comforted by a thought: the back room wasn’t as crowded as the bar, so he was able to see the man’s soul: he was human.

Eventually Sebastian said that it was getting late and he really should be getting home. The man said that he would walk him out, and then he slung his hand over Sebastian’s shoulders and quickly led him into a dark corner.

“Hey,” he said, “now listen closely, because I rarely do favors for other people. But I like your face, and I feel really bad for you—what with your job and your wife and all. How would you like to make an extra pound or two?”

“The deceits humans tell,” Sebastian thought, smirking. It was truly obvious that this man was lying to him—so obvious it was almost pitiful. But he masked his amusement and pretended to be as wide-eyed and as drunk as possible.

“Oh, yes! Yes, I would just love that!”

“Well, then, I’ll tell you what to do:” the hooded man leaned in closer and shoved some papers into Sebastian’s hand. “It’s really simple; all you have to do is find a guy, kill him, and make it look like an accident.”

“But isn’t that murder?” Sebastian asked as innocently as possible. “Won’t I be caught?”

“Not if you do your job right,” the man said, “and there shall be a big reward for you if you do manage to pull it off!”

“Hmm,” Sebastian said, pretending to think. “How stupid can these humans get? So easily tempted into doing evil…” “Of course I’ll do it,” he said, increasing his slur. “I’d be delighted to.”

The man grinned underneath his hood.

“Great! I’ve already given you all the information. And here’s a little something…just to thank you for your help…”

The man shoved some coins into Sebastian’s hand.

“Oh, and one more thing:” he leaned in closer, “let’s have this be a little secret between us two, shall we?”

“Of course,” Sebastian assured. “I wouldn’t even think of telling a soul.”

Which was yet another loophole, as he wouldn’t really “think” of telling anyone; he knew that he was going to tell someone.

The man grinned, slapped him on the back, called him a “good, honest man,” and then he had left.

When they had arrived back at Phantomhive, Sebastian had shown the young Master the papers that the man had given him. They detailed the victim and the best place to get him. Ciel hated to admit it, but the hooded man was a real professional. Everything was mapped out, down to the last detail: next Wednesday, Master Wallace W. Wallace would return from out-of-town. He would go through a little wooded area, where there would be a cliff overlooking a ravine. All one had to do was wait for the carriage to pass, stop it, drag out the victim, kill him, and then leave without leaving a trace. The way that the man had suggested was to throw him down into the ravine and make sure he gets properly beat up that way, and then drop him into the creek flowing through the ravine so that he would drown. Plain and simple.

“But we’re not going to do that,” Ciel told Sebastian. “You’re going to kidnap him and take him to Scotland Yard. I’ll meet you all there.”

“‘All,’ my Lord? Who’s ‘all?’”

“Oh,” Ciel said, waving his hand aside, “just you and Grell and Agni and Eleanora. The usual.”


	30. Chapter 30

Master Wallace W. Wallace was having the time of his life. His parents had tried to send him off to yet another prestigious boarding school, this time far away from London and its earthly pleasures, but he had been able to get expelled and was now on his way home. God bless the man who had invented fireworks!

Yes, everything was going his way. He had not one, not two, but three escorts in the carriage with him! All of them were young, beautiful ladies who clearly worshipped him. He could tell because they spent a lot of times rolling their eyes when they thought that he wasn’t looking—a sure sign that they thought he was the biggest and best thing since Big Ben.

The carriage passed through a heavily wooded area and began circling up, passing over a ravine. Wallace W. Wallace didn’t look out the window as the carriage rolled on; he had no interest in nature, especially nature in the middle of the night.

“So as I was saying, it’s obvious that the world is flat; I mean, just look at it; if it was round, we’d all be rolling around right now, right?”

“Uh-huh,” one his escorts said.

“So true,” another said in that biting way that most women used around him. If he didn’t know better, he would have called it “sarcasm!” Good thing he knew better.

But then the carriage suddenly stopped. It stopped so suddenly that Wallace W. Wallace was thrown into the seat across from him. Normally he wouldn’t have minded so much, but the woman who was sitting across from him had scooted away so that his face smashed against the cushiony seat, which didn’t hurt, but it would have felt much nicer if he had landed on a woman.

“HEY!” he shouted, getting out of the carriage. “What the hell is going on here? I demand that we keep moving…”

He trailed off in surprise. There were four hooded figures standing in front of them. One of them had the coachman. They all had guns.

“Alright, everyone out of the carriage,” one of the figures said coolly. “Get everyone out! Green, go.”

One of the figures stepped forward and dragged each of the three escorts out.

“Anyone else?”

“It’s empty.”

“Good. Everyone, line up and turn around.”

The one with the coachman stepped forward and deposited him in the line. Wallace W. Wallace also made a move to join their ranks when one of them—the one they had called “Green”—had grabbed him and dragged him back.

“Oh no, not you, sunshine.”

“Excuse me!” Wallace W. Wallace said, offended. “Do you know who I am? I am Wallace W. Wallace!”

Three of the figures glanced at the fourth one, who checked a piece of paper in his pocket.

“Yes, it’s him. Get him inside.”

The Green one shoved him back inside the carriage and climbed in, pointing a gun straight for his head. Another one shortly followed.

The one with the paper got up into the driver’s seat and whistled.

“Grey!”

The last one, who was still pointing a gun at the four others, ran over to the paper one and climbed on. The first one made a clicking sound and snapped the reigns and the horses ran on into the night, leaving the coachman and the women behind.

Wallace W. Wallace shrank back into his seat, cowering before the two hooded strangers.

“L-Listen,” he whimpered, “just let me go and I’ll make it worth your while; I have extremely rich parents; I’m sure that they’ll reward you?”

“Really?” asked the one who wasn’t pointing a gun at him. “How much are we talking?”

Green jammed an elbow into the other’s side.

“Shush, Blue!”

“Is everything alright in there?” one of the drivers asked.

“Just fine, Red!” Green cooed. “Awfully lonely in here though…”

The one called Red scoffed and went back to driving and his conversation with the one named Grey. The two in the carriage with Wallace W. Wallace didn’t talk to each other; it seemed that the Green one didn’t like the Blue one. Wallace W. Wallace wondered what genius gave them their names. Now look at his name: Wallace W. Wallace! Now there was a name! Just thinking about it made him want to repeat it a million times! Wallace W. Wallace. Wallace W. Wallace.

“Wallace W. Wallace,” Wallace W. Wallace murmured to himself, “Wallace W. Wallace. Wallace W. Wallace. Wallace W. Wallace.”

“Shut up,” Green and Blue chorused in one voice and Wallace W. Wallace whimpered and again tried to vanish into his seat. Apparently they agreed on the most important things.

At least they didn’t seem intent on taking him someplace dangerous. They were merely heading back to London. Perhaps his parents had heard of his expulsion and had prepared this little surprise just to teach him a lesson. He wouldn’t put it past them. He forced a small laugh.

“Heh-heh,” he said nervously. “My parents sent you, didn’t they? To teach me a lesson. Well, lesson learnt! So if you could just drop me off somewhere, like a pub or something…”

“Shut up!” they said again and Wallace W. Wallace shut up.

They weren’t going to a pub. They weren’t even going back to the Wallace St. Wallace Mansion. They were heading for Scotland Yard.

“Now, really!” Wallace W. Wallace said, offended. “This is really too much; I’ve learned my lesson; there is no reason to turn me into the authorities…”

“Shut up!”

“What is it?” Red asked. “What’s going on?”

“He won’t shut up about his parents,” Blue said.

“Point a gun at him or something, then; honestly, I thought you two could handle it…”

“We can handle it!” they chorused again and this time they both glared at him and pointed guns at his head, as if blaming him for making them look bad.

They stopped at Scotland Yard and Green (rather unnecessarily, he thought) jammed his gun into Wallace W. Wallace’s back to get him out of the carriage quicker.

“Come on; move it!”

There were several policemen waiting inside for them, as well as a richly-dressed child with an eyepatch and the head of Scotland Yard, Lord Arthur Randall.

“This is him?” Randall said coldly when all five of them were inside.

“This is him. Wallace W. Wallace?” the child asked, standing up.

“Y-Yes…”

“It’s him,” the kid said. “Take him away and keep him safe.”

“‘Keep me safe?’ Why? What’s going on? What’s happening? When do I get my one phone call?”

“Tonight,” the child said coolly, “you were almost murdered.”

“Murdered?” Wallace W. Wallace gasped and then realized something. “That’s right! I almost was!”

“WHAT?!” Ciel and Randall looked at each other and then at him. “Almost murdered? By whom?”

“By them!” Wallace W. Wallace said, pointing at the four hooded figures standing behind him. “They almost killed me! They kidnapped me and they drove me here and they deposited me here! Arrest them immediately!”

The child groaned and pressed his hand on his forehead.

“I can see why his parents wanted him gone,” he mumbled.

“What’d you say?”

“Nothing,” the kid said hurriedly. “Master WW.W, these four people just saved your life.”

“What? Impossible! I refuse to believe it!” He also chose to (temporarily) ignore the temporary rudeness of shortening his simply wonderful and especially creative name.

“Believe-it-or-not,” the kid said. “Tonight, someone was hired to kill you. These people interfered and have gotten you here, to safety.”

“Alright, I think that’s enough from you, Lord Phantomhive,” Randall said. “Thank you for your assistance. Feel free to leave now.”

“Of course, Lord Randall,” Ciel said. “Thank you for all your assistance. Come along, you four.” And he strode out of the building, with the hooded persons following him.

Wallace W. Wallace was kept in Scotland Yard for a month to ensure his safety, but it wasn’t bad. His parents visited often and—even more importantly—dozens of impressed young ladies came over to hear him tell and retell the story of how he was almost murdered by four hooded ruffians. The first story was fairly true-to-life (only with less him whimpering in the carriage and more of him providing witty comebacks), but the last story he told involved him single-handedly beating up his four would-be assassins and running several miles without pausing to Scotland Yard, where he had told his story and had his wounds treated (because of course he had gotten shot several times; twice in the head, apparently).

Meanwhile, Ciel, Red, Grey, Green, and Blue (who were, of course, none other than Sebastian, Agni, Grell, and Eleanora) had returned to Phantomhive. Ciel had taken Eleanora aside and they had whispered to each other for some minutes and she had left him, nodding.

“My Lord, what happened?” Sebastian asked once she had left.

“Oh, nothing; I just convinced her to work for us again.”

“Really? How?”

“I told her that it was inconvenient for all of us to run to-and-fro from the East End to get her assistance in a job and that we were paying her more and in a steadier way than she was earning from her brawling.” Ciel glanced at Sebastian. “I hope this won’t be a problem?”

“No sir. No problem at all.”


	31. Chapter 31

Going back to Phantomhive hadn’t been as disastrous as Eleanora had anticipated. The butler generally ignored her, the servants were all nice, the young Master was busy annoying the butler; everything would have been perfect except for the fact that everytime Madam Red would come over, she would bring her butler, Grell, and Grell was always monumentally unfriendly to Eleanora. Not enough to make her seriously worried, but enough to make her dread his coming. Or was it a her? Eleanora could never tell what gender Grell was…Maybe that should be a gender all of its own: a “Grell.”

But it didn’t matter. Life was good. She was getting paid with a good honest job, she had a roof over her head and three meals a day. What more could she want?

Well, she could have been a single woman, but one couldn’t have everything, right? At least she rarely had to talk to the butler.

Sebastian hadn’t thought much of Eleanora since that day that she had smiled at him. All of his thoughts that surrounded her mostly went like, “I must tell Eleanora to start thawing the chicken,” or “I have to remind Eleanora that today is her turn to wash the bathrooms.” Simple, work-related things like that. Every now and then he thought about the smile-day—it didn’t bother him much. It had been something that had happened, and now it was over, and it would never happen again, so why think about it? The only lasting impression that it made on his mind was that it proved that Eleanora wasn’t a complete rude, sarcastic, irritating woman; she still had feelings and all that. He stopped thinking about it all shortly afterwards.

One day, Eleanora, Bard, and Mey-Rin were sitting around the kitchen, working. Eleanora was supposed to be doing the dishes, but what she was mostly doing was looking out the window. It was getting rather overcast outside.

“That’s a bad omen,” she thought. Then she shrugged and continued with the dishes. She wasn’t a superstitious woman; a little rain meant rain and nothing else. The soap was making her hands slippery; she almost lost her dratted wedding ring to the drain.

“And maybe that wouldn’t be so bad,” she thought, putting it back on her finger. “This ring has been nothing but trouble for me from the start.”

The butler had given it to her shortly after she had started working again and it was just as beautiful to her as the day that she realized she was married.

Suddenly the door flew open and two men walked in.

“I’m coming in!” the first one said needlessly. “Is Earl Phantomhive in?”

“Who are you?” Bard asked, standing up.

The man just grinned.

“That’s none of your concern,” he said. “Where’s the Earl Phantomhive?”

“But it is our concern,” Bard said, standing in front of him. “Who are you?”

“Oh, so you’ll play with me?”

The man suddenly unsheathed his sword and attacked Bardroy. The cook ducked just in time and then Mey-Rin began shooting guns. Then the man ran forward and slashed them, ruining them and leaving her defenseless, and then Eleanora chose that moment to break a metal platter over his head.

The man didn’t faint; he seemed to have a hard head; he turned around, grinning like a maniac and was just about to stab her when something interfered between them, something which splattered cream all over her cheek.

It was the butler; he had shoved a dessert platter between them and the psycho had impaled a cream puff.

The servants just stood there as the butler smooth-talked his way out of the situation, causing the first man to sheath his sword and then all three of them—the butler and the two men—left the room to find the Earl of Phantomhive.

“What was that all about?” Bard asked.

“I don’t know,” Eleanora said, licking cream off of her cheek, “but I hope I never have to see that man again.”

So saying, they cleaned up the kitchen and then got back to work.


	32. Chapter 32

The two men had come to ask the Earl of Phantomhive to host a party for someone…Someone important…and foreign…And that was all Eleanora could remember. She wasn’t one for names. Or people. Or really anything that she thought didn’t matter. Which was almost everything.

They didn’t have much time to get ready, and soon the date of the party had arrived. Eleanora stood in the corner, as usual, watching all of the guests drink wine and chat about their fancy rich-people problems. There was a soft rumble of thunder outside and she looked out the nearest window. Oh, it was raining. Well, that was nice. She always liked rain.

The butler finished walking around the room and stood by her, blending in the shadows easily, as if he was half-shadow himself.

“Some party,” he said.

“I thought it turned out well,” she said.

“So far,” he said, looking around at all the guests. “Some of them…” He trailed off and shook his head, as if shaking off a bad omen.

“What—you don’t like some of them?”

He turned to look at her, a deep, serious expression in his eyes.

“Have you ever gotten the feeling that someone is a very bad person?”

“Certainly.”

“Like who?”

“Like you!”

She snickered at her joke and Sebastian’s intense look changed to one of exasperation.

“Can you ever take anything seriously?”

“Not if I can help it.” She smirked at him. “Life’s too short, so you might as well be sarcastic.”

“Such words of wisdom! I must remember to write them down.”

“Ouch,” she said and nudged him playfully. “You’re quite the sassy one yourself, aren’t you?”

“I’ve always preferred ‘witty,’” he said and smirked back at her. Then he seemed to notice that something was wrong with his precious party and he walked off, leaving her alone again.

She leaned against the wall, mulling over his words. “The feeling that someone is a very bad person?” Well, there was the butler, naturally; she realized that she could never trust him; but who else? There was some weedy looking man sitting on a chair across from her; he looked like a wallflower; nothing dangerous. There were two rich-looking people; theatre persons, she assumed. There was a loud guy and a nervous guy and a big German man and two Asians and that Queen’s butler—what was his name again? Chuckie or something. No, Charles. She frowned at the glutton with a sword—she didn’t trust him at all. There was something about him that really irked her…She couldn’t put her finger on it, but thinking about him made her wonder if, given the choice, would she rather trust him or the Phantomhive butler? This was an unusual thought and she was just about to explore it further when the big German man suddenly noticed her.

“Hellooooo,” he slurred, leaning in. “What’ssss your name, pretty *hic!* one?”

“Shit,” she thought and curtseyed, trying to smile.

“Forgive me, my Lord; there is a matter that I must attend to,” she said in a light tone and tried to scoot away from him, preferably heading for the kitchen. She knew all about men, especially drunken bastards like his type, and she knew that the best thing for her was to get as far away as possible, as fast as possible. But this man wasn’t one to take “no” for an answer, because he leaned against the wall, preventing her escape route.

“Ohhh, don’t be like that,” he said, grinning sleazily at her. “Such a pretty body…Surely someone of your type can’t resist a maaan?” He stretched his hand out and squeezed her left breast. Eleanora controlled herself and stepped away from him.

“I must go,” she said and turned away. He grabbed her wrist and tried to pull her back.

“Come onnnn, don’t be like thaaat; surely you doon’t meeeean thaaat?”

“Don’t disgrace the Phantomhives; don’t disgrace the Phantomhives…” she thought, only she really couldn’t think of a way out of this situation aside from slapping him several times and cursing him to high hell. “Thinkthinkthinkthinkthink…”

“Mary Ann!”

Eleanora jumped and the German jumped and released her. The butler was approaching, scowling at her.

“Honestly,” he said, “I thought I told you that you’re needed in the kitchen. Why are you still out here? I do beg your pardon, sir,” he said, bowing to the man, “please forgive our maid. Come along now, Mary Ann.” He grabbed her wrist and gently pulled her away from the ballroom and down to the servants’ quarters. He shut the door and sighed. “There, now. Are you alright, Miss Black?”

Eleanora suddenly collapsed and leaned against him, panting. She had a certain quirk which helped her in some situations but was also rather dangerous: whenever she was scared, she would freeze up and not move. She had been scared in the ballroom so she had frozen and was almost at the mercy of that drunken jerk. She gripped the butler and tried not to cry.

“I hate men,” she panted. “I really hate MEN.”

Sebastian instinctively put his arm around her waist and held her closer.

“I know,” he said softly. “Humans can be disgusting.”

They remained like that for a time while she tried to control herself. Eventually she pulled away and wiped her eyes, hiccupping.

“Are you alright?” Sebastian asked, looking at her with something like mild concern. She nodded and hiccupped again. “I don’t think that you should go back up there,” he said. “Stay down here; you can help in the kitchen.”

“But—the party…”

“Don’t worry,” he said firmly, pushing her towards the kitchen. “Just sit down and rest for a bit. I’ll take care of everything.”

She hiccupped for a third time and nodded. Sebastian smiled and left the servants’ quarters.  
Eleanora sat down at the kitchen table and sighed heavily. He had been unnaturally nice to her. She wondered why. Probably just being a gentleman—or something. Nothing to be concerned about. She was really mostly worried about the party—but there were other servants around, and the Earl. She was sure that—somehow—everything would turn out fine.

Sebastian made his way back up to the party, feeling a little lightheaded. Her hair had smelled nice—like roses.


	33. Chapter 33

Sebastian and the rest of the servants came down at around eight o’clock.

“The party seems to have finished,” he sighed. “The young Master has gone to bed and the rest of the guests have spread out amongst the rooms of the mansion. How have you been here?”

“Fine,” Eleanora said, stretching. “Peachy. I’m a little tired myself; shall we call it a night?”

“In a moment; we have to finish cleaning up after the party. Dishes and things.”

“Alright,” she said, standing up. “Let’s get this over with.”

An hour passed; they were finishing cleaning when a bell rang. Sebastian looked up.

“It’s that German,” he sighed. “I wonder what he wants now?”

Mey-Rin blanched; she squeaked and hid behind a chair.

“I-I d-don’t want to go up there and face him again!” she said. “Wh-What if he t-tries something?”

“I can go up,” Eleanora said, removing her apron. “I don’t mind.”

“Really?” Sebastian looked at her. “Are you sure?”

“Of course. I only had to deal with him for five minutes. Mey-Rin was stuck with him for three hours. I can handle it.”

Sebastian sighed and removed his apron as well.

“I’ll come too.”

“What? Why?”

“Master Siemens seemed really drunk; I’m sure that he’ll be requiring some male assistance.”

He got a pitcher of water and they went upstairs. There was a crash of thunder.

“That’s quite a storm,” Eleanora said as they passed a window. “I hope that the guests can get out alright in the morning.”

“Mm. Yes.”

They arrived at the German’s door and Sebastian knocked.

“Master Siemens? You rang?”

There was another peal of thunder, which almost hid the screams within.

“The hell…?” Eleanora said. “Master Siemens! Open this door!”

She pounded on it several times with her fist; the screams persisted and brought everyone else in the house to come running.

“What is it?”

“What’s going on?”

“What’s the meaning of this?”

“Let’s break the door down,” Sebastian said, handing the water jug to Eleanora. She nodded and stepped back, and in one quick, deft movement, the butler kicked the door and it broke off its hinges with a smash and everyone ran inside the room.

There was another roar of thunder and a flash of lightning, which very quickly illuminated the room before plunging it into darkness again. But the darkness suddenly didn’t matter. The lightning had done its duty.

They had all seen the body of the German, reclining in his chair with a ghastly death stare.


	34. Chapter 34

Eleanora had seen dead bodies before. The fact that there was a dead body in the room didn’t bother her. The fact that someone had actually died in Phantomhive during a party was a bit more disturbing to her. The circumstances were far more bizarre than the actual occurrence. How could somebody just drop dead and die in the middle of a party? Who did that? That was so rude! And in an Earl’s manor, no less. Perhaps it would have been more understandable if the dead person was a relative or a close family friend, but this was a guest. That was even ruder. And just plain weird.

She almost dropped the water pitcher, but luckily, as she always turned stiff when frightened, she almost crushed the handle in her grip.

“If it could happen to a guest,” she thought as she looked at all the others, “it could happen to anyone here…”

All of the other people around had looks of horror on their faces—all of them except for the butler, that is. He had a pensive face, but it wasn’t the right kind of pensive face. It wasn’t the kind of face one would have when they were thinking:

“OH SHITNUGGETS; SOMEONE JUST DIED HERE; I NEED HELP RIGHT NOW SOMEONE CALL THE POLICE SOMEONE DO SOMETHING I AM TOTALLY FREAKING OUT HERE!!!”

Which was of course the right attitude to have at the moment.

The butler’s thinking face was more like as if he had just realized that someone had eaten the young Master’s cake:

“Hmm, now let’s see, who could have done this?”

Which was totally inappropriate; Eleanora desperately needed him to start panicking.

Mostly because that was what she was about to do.

She remembered what had happened at the party—she had gotten hit on by the murdered man, almost slapped the bejeezus out of him when she was rescued by the butler and spent the rest of the evening in the kitchen—alone. Nobody was with her. Nobody saw her. If attention was diverted on her…if they thought that she had done it…All she would have was her word, and her word wasn’t worth shit. She could be a suspect. She could be jailed. She could be hung.

“I’M TOO YOUNG TO DIE; I’M TOO YOUNG TO DIE; I’M TOO YOUNG TO DIE AND I DIDN’T DO IT I SWEAR ON THE SOUL OF MY MOTHER AND THE SOUL OF MY FATHER IF HE’S NOT ALREADY DEAD YET WHICH I HOPE HE IS HORRIBLE BASTARD!!”

She caught the eye of the butler, who looked at her and raised an eyebrow.

And something happened. It was almost like magic. She just suddenly felt calmer, as if he was telling her to calm down.

“It’s alright,” he seemed to say. “They don’t know where you were. Nobody is suspicious of you. Besides, I know that you’re innocent. I know you didn’t do it.”

She nodded at him and he nodded back. He even smiled at her, which she didn’t return. She was not in a smiling mood, and besides, it was horribly rude to start smiling in the presence of a dead person.

Meanwhile, the servants and the guests were arguing about what to do. One of them wanted to wait until the police arrived, but the cook said that they had to move the body now.

The body was accordingly moved and then that damned Earl Grey piped up.

“I want insurance,” he said. “Insurance that we’ll get out of here alive.”


	35. Chapter 35

Eleanora was pacing her room, trying to decide what to do. The whole evening had just been one big flop. First the murder, and then the young Master was accused for absolutely no reason, and then he was forced to sleep chained to another man…She was feeling sorry for him. At least she was off the hook. What would have happened to her if she had been accused of murder? She would never get another job in her life!

There was a knock at her door and she jumped. She pulled up her dress and removed a gun from her garter.

“Who is it?” she called out, trying to keep her voice light.

“It’s me,” the person on the other side said.

“Who’s ‘me?’”

“Sebastian.”

“…Who?”

A sigh.

“…The butler?”

“Oh! You! I’m coming.”

She opened the door; he was waiting outside, looking a bit irritated.

“You know, I didn’t even know that you had a first name,” she said.

“Everyone has a first name,” he said, entering. She closed the door and turned to look at him; he was staring out the window at the rain.

“How’s the young Master?” she asked softly.

“Not as bad as I expected,” he said. “I thought he would put up more of a fuss, but he’s being surprisingly complacent.”

“I see,” she said. There was a pause. “Who do you think…you know…did it?”

“I’m not sure yet,” he said. “Why? Are you worried?” He turned to look at her.

“Well, naturally. I mean, if a noble can be murdered, why can’t a servant?”

He just smirked and continued looking out the window.

“What? You aren’t worried?”

“No. Humans are weak. It takes a lot to get rid of someone like me.” He turned to look at her, still smiling. She was sitting on her bed, looking gloomy.

“Miss Black?”

She shrugged.

“I don’t know,” she said tiredly. “I just really hope that all this business can be ended quickly.”

“I’m sure it will be,” he said. “Well…Goodnight, Miss Black.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Michaelis.”

He hesitated as he passed by her and then gently stroked her hair.

“Don’t worry about anything,” he said. “I’ll take care of it all.”

And he left.


	36. Chapter 36

Miss Black…

“Miss Black…”

“Miss Black!”

Eleanora woke up with a small scream; she reached under her pillow for her gun and couldn’t find it; it was on the desk, far out of reach.

Sebastian gazed at her.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “but Bardroy already pulled a gun on me and I’m not in the mood for another.”

He waited until she stopped swearing before continuing.

“I apologize for the late hour,” he said, “but it’s urgent.”

“How the bloody !!! did you get in here? I locked the goddamned door!”

“I knocked several times and you didn’t answer. I was forced to open it myself.”

“What if you were a murderer? I could be dead now!”

“Lucky for us then, that I’m not a murderer. Now pay attention.”

“And this really couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

“No,” he said. “It couldn’t.”

“I hate you,” she informed him and then settled down to listen.

He didn’t speak for a while. He just looked at her.

“What? Something on my face?”

“No,” he said. “I just wanted to look at you for a while.”

“Like what you see?”

“Mostly,” he said. “You have very nice eyes.”

Eleanora stared at him.

“They’re blue,” he continued.

“Brilliant,” she said, finding speech again. “How long did it take you to figure that out?”

“You’re a very smart young lady, you know,” he said, ignoring her last comment.

“Thanks for…I’m what?”

“Tomorrow,” he said, “and the days afterward, things might be a bit…up in the air.”

“Why? Because of the murders?”

“Yes. And I want you to handle it all.”

“ME? Why me?”

“Because out of everyone in this mansion, you’re the one I trust the most.”

Eleanora lost her voice again.

“You’re not much for strength. Or speed. Or stamina. I remember all the times you managed to hit me,” he gently touched one of his eyes, “and you managed to do that not by your fighting prowess, but because you were able to catch me off-guard. Not many people can do that. It’s an excellent gift.”

“We’re glad you approve.”

“I’m serious,” he said, turning to her again. “Tomorrow, you’re going to be in charge.”

“What about Tanaka? Don’t you trust him? Isn’t he older and wiser and everything?”

“His stamina is a bit…unstable. And sometimes I question his intelligence. I’ve never questioned you yet, Eleanora. Please take care of everyone in this mansion, particularly the young Master.” He rose up. “Now go to sleep. I leave everything in your capable hands.”

“Mmm…” Eleanora said, already falling asleep. “I’m still wondering why we couldn’t have had this conversation in the morning…”

“Because things will be different in the morning,” he whispered and closed and locked the door behind him.

Eleanora was mostly-asleep until a thought jolted her awake.

“He called me ‘Eleanora.’”


	37. Chapter 37

Eleanora…

“Eleanora…”

“Eleanora!”

Eleanora woke up with a jolt.

“Uggghhh; can’t anyone get a little sleep around here?” she said. “What the hell’s the problem now?”

The one who had risked life and limb to wake her up was the gardener. He was crying.

“Finny? What’s wrong? What happened?”

He sniffed and pointed downstairs.

“S-Something’s happened; we don’t know what to do…”

“What?” She suddenly felt cold. “Has there been another murder?”

“Y-Yes…”

She didn’t remember much after that. Just brief flashes of what had happened. Now she had her night robe…Now she was downstairs…Now she was upstairs…Now she was in the hall…

“The hell you wake me up? Why didn’t you wake up the butl…”

She opened the door that Finny had pointed to and stopped short. She realized why they couldn’t have woken the butler.

The butler was dead.

Mey-Rin was crying. Tanaka was sniffling a bit. Even Bardroy looked tragic. Eleanora slowly entered the room, which reeked horribly of blood.

“What—” she said. “What—”

She collapsed by the butler’s side.

“He’s not—Is he?—He can’t be—He’s not allowed to be—”

She picked up his gloved hand; it was limp. She tried feeling for a pulse and couldn’t find one.

Finny sniffled a couple more times.

“Lady,” he said, “what are we going to do?”

“Tomorrow and the days afterward, things might be a bit…up in the air…”

For the oddest of reasons, Eleanora was remembering the butler’s words last night.

“Tomorrow, you’re going to be in charge…”

“Eleanora?”

“Please take care of everyone in this mansion, particularly the young Master… I leave everything in your capable hands.”

“He knew,” she thought. “The damn bastard knew all the time. He knew he was going to die. He knew and he dumped all of his responsibilities on me. The damn bastard. He knew.”

Eleanora couldn’t hold back a sniff herself. She looked up at Tanaka:

“What are we going to do?”

Tanaka made three very small, sad “ho”s.

“Fat lot of help that is,” she thought and then sighed. Well, the butler—dead though he was— had given her her orders, and orders she would follow. She slowly rose up and controlled herself.

“All of you, go wake up everyone,” she said. “Tanaka, please wake up the young Master. Lead everyone here, and nobody touch anything.”

“But…shouldn’t we move…him?”

“We will,” she said, looking down at the butler’s lifeless face. “We’ll move him as soon as everyone sees. They deserve to know what happened…what he looks like…and everything.” They stood there for a moment, hesitating. “Well? Hop to it!”

They nodded and dashed out, leaving her alone with the corpse.

Again she knelt by his body and brushed a strand of hair away from his face. His eyes didn’t even look at her. They were looking upwards. Well, that didn’t necessarily matter, as he wasn’t really seeing much of anything anymore.

Would anyone hire a widow? She knew that divorcees never stood a chance of getting a job, but maybe someone would take pity on a widow. Thank goodness they hadn’t had children. No one in their right mind would hire a single woman with children to support. But either way…

“Bastard,” she sighed. “You bastard.”

She knelt over him and a teardrop fell on his cheek.


	38. Chapter 38

“Eleanora, do you know where the key is?”

She looked up from pouring the tea.

“Hm?”

Ciel repeated his question:

“Do you know where Sebastian kept the key?”

“What key?”

“The key that...opened the box…with all the other…keys.”

“Oh, that key,” she nodded, as if she knew what he was talking about. “Why do you need that key?”

Ciel re-explained their plan and Eleanora blanked out again. So much had just happened...First the perverted German had died, then the perverted butler had died, and then that weird shrimpy guy—what’s-his-pathetic-face—had died. She wasn’t sure if he was perverted or not, but he probably was. She was not in an open-minded mood.

And the young Master had caused a scene in the room where the butler had died, which had been incredibly embarrassing. Eleanora had gotten over her distress by the time the others had arrived and had the presence of mind not to look disturbed; she tried to look as bored as possible, as if butlers were murdered regularly in Phantomhive—“Oh, what a pity; there goes another one”—type of thing. She couldn’t disgrace the Phantomhives, especially in such a crucial time.

Yes, calmness was of the essence, but so much had happened that she was still quite unable to wrap her head around anything, so once the young Master had finished explaining and looked at her expectantly, all she really said was,

“Wut?”

“The key, Eleanora,” Ciel said, losing his patience. “Where did Sebastian keep the key?”

Sebastian…Keys…Keys…Sebastian…Tea…

“I don’t know,” she said dully. “Why don’t you check his body?”

Ciel rose with a sigh.

“Fine. You’re coming with us.”

“Me? Why?”

“Because you’re his wife and maybe you’ll remember something on the way there,” he said, giving her a look over his shoulder. “What—you’re not squeamish, are you?”

She scoffed.

“Please. As if I’ve never seen a naked man before.”

“…I was talking about you seeing his corpse again.”

“Oh.” She thought about it. “Well, I don’t care about that, either.”

They left the room, leaving the guests staring at each other, wondering what on earth had just happened.


	39. Chapter 39

It wasn’t on his body. The young Master and the others checked very thoroughly. The wordsmith—whatever his name was—and the Earl Grey had given Eleanora strange looks when she was just standing there, waiting for them to get on with it, and the young Master told her to turn her back to their…obscene work.

She did so obediently, but she really didn’t care much at all. She had seen naked men before; naked dead men were no different. They were probably even better than live naked men because a live naked man usually had other things on his mind besides the weather.

They finished searching and were back to square one. Ciel looked at Eleanora, as if expecting her to magically produce a key from somewhere—as if she could just cough a key up. She sighed. Children could really be so useless sometimes…

“For goodness sakes, if it’s not on his person, check his room!”

So they all went up to his room.

Eleanora had never been in the butler’s room before. It looked so…bare. Normally servants brought something with them—some keepsake or trinket or maybe something from home. She herself had a box in her room which was filled with various garbage that for some reason she found comforting. The butler’s room had absolutely nothing.

“Well,” Ciel sighed, “let’s get started.”

They all fanned out and started searching, opening drawers and cabinets and looking for something—anything—that vaguely resembled a key.

Eleanora was starting to get bored. Normally, poking through someone’s room would be rather fun and exciting, but that all that fun and excitement was severely diminished by the fact that there was absolutely nothing fun or interesting in the butler’s room. Open a drawer—shirts. Open another drawer—trousers. Open a cabinet—a bunch of tailcoats. The man had only the one outfit. The only thing that seemed remotely interesting was that he had two boxes—big boxes—exclusively for gloves. One box had been neatly labeled CLEAN and the other one was labeled WASH. The CLEAN box was filled with thousands of neatly-folded gloves. The WASH gloves didn’t seem to be all that dirty, but what did she know? She wasn’t a religious glove-wearer. She wore long white gloves every now and then, but they were only on special occasions to hide her wedding ring and the pentagram symbol on her upper left arm.

The pentagram symbol. She vaguely recalled seeing the same symbol on one of the butler’s hands. Was that what he was hiding? Some stupid tattoo? Ridiculous. He was probably a germaphobe or something. Or maybe he had really sensitive hands.

She sighed and opened up another drawer. This one had underwear.

“Nothing to see here,” she thought and was about to close the drawer when she realized that now was her chance to do something really naughty. She hadn’t been allowed to look at the butler’s naked body, and the desire to do something lewd and sinful rose up within her. She looked around; no one else was paying attention to her. Now was her chance.

She began rifling through the underclothing and then realized that what she was doing had absolutely no value whatsoever.

“This is considered indecent?” she thought, staring at the undergarments. “This is just another piece of clothing.”

She felt uncommonly dumb and was just about to put everything back again when she noticed a very small key hidden underneath the underwear.

The key looked too small to be really important; it probably went to something else. Like a diary or something. Wouldn’t that be fun? To open and read the butler’s diary; maybe finally be able to hold her own against him…

But wait. That wasn’t possible. That would never happen. He was dead.

She sighed again. Dead as a doornail. He would never irritate or torture or bother her ever again.

She closed the drawer but kept the key in her hand. Who knew? It might prove useful.

She was sick and tired of looking at boring butler clothing. She moved over to the desk and began opening its drawers. Papers…Envelopes…Pens…Stamps…Books…Hello, this one was locked.

She looked around again; still nobody was paying attention to her. She knelt in front of the desk and tried the bottom drawer again. Still locked. She would need a key—a very small key.

And a very small key was what she had! She stuck the key that she had found into the lock and the drawer opened. She hated to admit it, but that butler was—or had been—a clever devil. No decent person would go looking through a gentleman’s underwear. Already the incident was making her feel ashamed, but on the bright side, no one had seen her and no one knew except for her. She began rifling through the now-open drawer:

The first thing that she saw was a large file, which looked as if it had been carefully protected but still constantly opened and its contents read and reread. She took the file out and opened it:

It just contained two very official-looking documents. Legal things. How boring. She absentmindedly scanned the first one and paused.

It had been signed by Earl Ciel Phantomhive.

She glanced at the Earl; he was staring at the wardrobe; she went back to the paper.

No, there was no doubt about it: that was his signature. The other signature next to his seemed to be written in a different language. The ink used was a very dark red—as if they had signed it in blood.

Which was absolutely ridiculous, of course. She didn’t dare to force a laugh, lest anyone else turn to see what she was laughing at—and looked at the other document. This one looked far more familiar…

It was her marriage contract—the one that legally forced her to be married to that damned, now deceased, butler.

“Why did he have this?” she thought, staring at her signature. “And why would he keep it with another contract between him and the young Master?”

It made no sense, but apparently he liked consulting it, because it looked well-read. It was still in marvelous condition; both of them were; as if the butler’s whole existence relieved on contracts.

She set the file aside and took out the next thing in the drawer: a photo album, divided into three parts. The first part consisted of thousands of photos of cats, each one labelled in the precise, neat handwriting of the butler. She couldn’t resist smirking at some of the names:

Fluffy…Mittens…Muffins…Missus…

She couldn’t spend all day looking at photos of cats and reading their names. She flipped to the second part:

The first photo was of a woman, an achingly beautiful woman. Eleanora couldn’t help but stare enviously at her. She looked like some kind of a Venus. It was black-and-white, so she couldn’t tell what color her hair or eyes were, but the effect wasn’t diminished by the lack of color. She was still the very epitome of beauty.

Her hair spilled down her back in natural ringlets. Her body was just the right size and shape: perfect hourglass curves without being too fat or too thin. Her eyes were laughing and she had the kindest, most amazing smile. There was something familiar about that smile…It was the butler’s smile. The woman had the butler’s smile.

The photo below the woman was of a man. This man was familiar as well. In fact, he looked exactly like the late Sebastian Michaelis…only he was thinner, with gaunter cheeks. His eyes seemed to have dark circles underneath them, so dark they looked as if he had been punched in the face. His hair was medium-length and tied back with a bit of ribbon. He was smiling as well, only his smile seemed far more evil than the woman’s. Maybe it was because his incisor teeth were far longer and sharper than normal.

But it didn’t matter. He and the butler—one and the same. She wondered who he was—who he and the lady were.

There was a sinking feeling in her stomach. The man looked just like the butler. Maybe it was because he actually was the butler? And the woman…maybe she was his wife?

But that was just preposterous! He was already married to her!...And then he died and now she was a widow, but still! Could he really have married twice? Maybe he was a widower before he married her. Or maybe the beautiful woman was still alive? Maybe he was—or had been—a polygamist?

She was feeling sicker by the minute as she turned the pages of the photo album. The following photographs were always of the man and the woman, or sometimes showing both. They were both beautiful and glorious and obviously deeply in love with one another. There was a photo of the man kissing the woman’s neck and the woman laughing. There was another of them sitting in a garden, with them sitting on a swing, smiling lovingly at each other. There was another of them recreating the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet, only the man was on the balcony in a dress, looking overly dramatic, and the woman was below him, laughing with tears in her eyes.

Eleanora couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. This is what she wanted. She wanted a love like that. She wanted a man to look at her the way that the man in the photographs looked at the woman. But if the man truly was the butler, and the beautiful woman was his wife…The thought alone was almost too much to bear. Would the butler ever be able to love like that again? More importantly, would he ever somehow learn to love her like that?

As if he could. He was dead. Dead and she would never marry again. By the time her mourning period would end, she would be an old hag. No one would ever want to marry her, let alone love her.

She kept on flipping through the photographs, watching the man and the woman smile at each other, kiss each other, laugh with each other, clearly adore each other; it was almost becoming too much for her and then there was a photograph of the woman and she was holding a baby…

Eleanora quickly turned to the third and final section of the photo album. It was blank. Well, that was a bust. She turned the pages quickly and distractedly to get to the end as fast as possible when she stopped.

There was a photograph on one of the pages. It was of a school—a Barnardo’s home—with some of its pupils lined up in front of it. They all looked deeply unhappy and uncomfortable, all prim and proper in their ratty school uniforms…Eleanora remembered those uniforms. They were horrible.

Someone had drawn an arrow, pointing to one of the students. She squinted, trying to concentrate on the girl’s face…

It was her. Oh god, she remembered this photograph. She and a bunch of other students had to pose for a photograph to advertise the home…She hadn’t seen it in years. How did the butler manage to get it?

But no, it was undoubtedly her as a little girl. Why did the butler go to all that trouble of finding it? More importantly, why was it in the photo album, particularly as how there was another much prettier woman inside of it?

A couple more pages and there was yet another photo of her. This one she remembered much more distinctly. A couple of months ago Madam Red had stopped by with a camera. She had wanted to take a bunch of pictures and did so for about a week before she lost interest. This one showed Eleanora sitting demurely on a chair—one of the few that she had actually posed for. The next page had another one. This time she was acting as if she was scrubbing the floor. The third one—the last one that she had posed for—was with her and the butler. They were standing stiffly together, looking very uncomfortable and about as unloving as one could get. Eleanora remembered how Madam Red had yelled at them while the photo was being taken:

“Look at each other! Smile! At least hold hands or something! For goodness sakes, at least try to look like a happily married couple!”

The next few photos were still of her, but rather blurry. They were candid; she hadn’t wanted to pose for any others. She thought that Madam Red still had all of these photos and that there were no copies. Why had the butler preserved them? And why were they all of her? She wasn’t special enough to deserve her own part in a private photo album…

The very last photograph showed her at the kitchen table, head down, asleep. She didn’t remember Madam Red taking that photo, and she had always shown the pictures immediately after they had been developed. There was a shadow falling across the kitchen; it must have belonged to the person who had taken it. Let’s see, there was a head with an informal haircut…the body was very stiff and professional…they seemed to be wearing a tailcoat.

“Goddammit, the butler took a photo of me while I was asleep.”

She probably would have been filled with more rage if the young Master hadn’t screamed. She whirled around, just in time to see a bunch of cats come jumping out of the wardrobe.

Things got settled rather quickly after that; the young Master went to stand in the hallway to control his allergies. Eleanora peeked into the drawer; there was just one more thing left—a journal.

She began flipping through the pages; the butler had carefully documented every day, usually to record something that had to be done tomorrow, but every now and then mentioning a certain occurrence. On a whim, she flipped to that one date, the day that ruined her life:

Bardroy blew up the kitchen again. Repaired it. Finny destroyed garden. Fixed it. Young Master complaining about the noble killings. Kidnapped the maid and took her to the local church basement. Found a stray kitten. Kept it. Thinking of naming it Twisty. Lost one of my gloves; must buy new pair.

That’s IT? One lousy sentence? That was all that mattered to him? He didn’t care about the next month filled of agony and tortures and how that one day—that one kidnapping—had singlehandedly ruined her whole life? She was boiling with anger; she flipped to that other day:

Twisty ran off. Found him again. Mey-Rin broke more dishes. Had to order in replacements. Expect them by next week. Young Master got a small cold today. Enjoyed watching him suffer. Got married. Found stray pregnant cat. Naming her Bundles. Can’t wait to see kittens. Had to order new tailcoat. Expect it by tomorrow.

Again, one sentence. Half of a sentence, really. So that was all she meant to him. She didn’t deserve anything more than one sentence. Even the sacred act of getting married meant nothing to him. She flipped to the last several entries. She was half-expecting the last one to be something like: found stray cat. Naming him Snuggles. Was murdered. Guest broke lamp. Had to order new one. Expect it two weeks from today. But there wasn’t an entry for this day, so she had to read the last one, yesterday’s entry:

German guest murdered. Still thinking about it. Gave orders to the servants. Went to see Eleanora. Worrying about my cats outside in the rain. Hoping the young Master won’t find out about them.

“Went to see Eleanora.” That was a far different statement from “gave orders to the servants.” He had distinctly separated the two. Why? Why, when only a few months back, she didn’t even deserve half a sentence? What changed?

Her head hurt; there were too many questions and not enough answers; everyone else had finished searching the room. She put the journal, the album, and the file back into the drawer and locked it. She tossed the key back into the underwear drawer on her way out and went back upstairs, thinking.


	40. Chapter 40

She was still thinking as she and the servants began to prepare dinner. It wasn’t much of a dinner—that Earl Grey was the biggest glutton that ever lived—but they were trying their best.

She was still thinking when there was a knock on the door. She was still thinking when she went to answer it.

Some old man was standing there, holding a briefcase. He didn’t look happy to see her, but maybe he just had one of those faces—where the features seemed inclined to frown.

“Good evening,” he said in a stiff, polite voice. “And who might you be?”

“Depends on who’s asking,” Eleanora said, matching his bored tone. “And just who the hell are you? And why the hell are you prowling around this manor in this weather?”

She figured that she was allowed to use such language; he was entering through the servants’ door, which meant that either he was an equal or beneath her. She hoped that he would get the message and then leave, muttering apologies, but instead he just cracked a grin. His skin didn’t seem to like it; it was the weirdest skin she had ever seen—more like a mask than anything else.

“Fiery one, aren’t you?” he said. “I admire a fine woman with spirit. But I was summoned here by the Earl of Phantomhive.”

“Oh really? And could you prove it?”

“I could, but only to the Earl.”

“Why? Why not to me? And here I thought that we were getting along so smashingly…”

“My delight would know no bounds to be acquainted with such a lovely young lady like yourself, but I’m afraid I can only disclose myself to the Earl of Phantomhive.”

“Then I’m afraid I can’t let you in,” Eleanora said, “and if I have to let you in, you’re going in as a suspect.”

She stepped aside and allowed the cook and the gardener to do their duty.


	41. Chapter 41

The man’s name was Pastor Jeremy Rathbone, which Eleanora thought was rather a silly name, but then again, she wasn’t the one who thought it up. In a way, his name was fitting because as Eleanora despised his name, she also despised the one to which it was attached.

He was so vain, waltzing in like he owned the place, elegantly allowing himself to be tied up and then, after he had been presented to the Earl of Phantomhive and then released, calmly and coolly took over the murders, as if he had done absolutely nothing in his whole life except for solving murders. Mighty suspicious, what with his flawless alibi and all. She didn’t trust him at all.

Eleanora couldn’t stand him. She excused herself and went to fool around with the dinner ingredients, trying to think of a way to feed a bunch of guests when one had a bottomless hole instead of a mouth. She wondered what the butler would do if he was around. It was such a shame that he was too perfect; now no one would be able to replicate his methods and thought processes. She sighed and leaned against a kitchen counter, trying to think about the matter at hand and not how her late husband was a damned selfish bastard who rudely died instead of staying alive and helping her…

“Are you crying?”

She jumped and looked behind her. That old guy—Pastor What’s-His-Ugly-Face—was now downstairs with her. Shoot. She had so looked forward to spending an evening without seeing him. Couldn’t a maid have any time to herself? What—she had only been down here for five minutes…fifteen minutes, tops...

She glanced at a clock. Three hours. Wow. Time really did fly when one was at a loss.

“I’m not crying,” she sniffed and turned her back to him. She had no time for talking to pastors.

But Jeremy didn’t get the hint that he wasn’t wanted and moved to stand beside her.

“Are you thinking of your husband?” he asked softly.

Eleanora looked away.

“Yes.”

“Are you missing him?”

“Not really,” she said and sniffed again. “I don’t miss him, exactly; I just wish that he was here so that he could take care of it all.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “He told me that he was putting me in charge, and I thought that I could handle it, but…” She sighed, which effectively held back a sob.

“Poor thing,” he said and his voice was filled with genuine sympathy as he offered her a handkerchief. “It must be hard on you—to suddenly be tasked with keeping such a huge mansion as this running smoothly, especially with all of this unpleasantness going on.”

Eleanora sniffed again.

“Thank you; yes, it is unpleasant.”

She sighed again, hiccupped once and then felt better. She even smiled up at the pastor, who smiled back. Geez, he was tall, as tall as that butler, maybe even taller. She had never trusted people taller than her, but maybe he wasn’t all bad. Her first impressions had been wrong before.

“By the way, have you discovered what killed them?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I mean, what killed all of the murdered people.”

“Yes. You see, George von Siemens faked his death…”

“WHAT?!”

“…before he was actually murdered from being stabbed in the chest. Then the butler—forgive me for mentioning him—but I’m sure that you know that he died from a blow to the head and then a stab in the chest.”

“This murderer seems to enjoy stabbing people in the chest,” Eleanora said. “Do you suppose—No, forget it.”

“What?”

“No, it’s nothing.”

“I’d be most anxious to hear your thoughts on the subject, Miss Black.”

“Do you suppose that—maybe—that Earl Grey did it?”

Jeremy raised an eyebrow.

“What makes you think that?”

“Well, if two of the victims died by stabbing…The only one in this house with a sword and the insane mentality to keep twirling it around…is the Earl Grey.”

“You’d make a fine detective, milady.”

“Oh, I really wouldn’t go that far,” she said, embarrassed. “But what about that last man—the pathetic one, who’s name I can’t remember?”

“Ah, him. He is an interesting case. But I wouldn’t worry too much about him. I doubt that the murderer will return.”

“Oh? What makes you say that?”

“I have found enough evidence that gives me the strong impression that the butler—before he passed away—had taken ample care of the murderer beforehand.”

“You mean he killed him? The murderer?”

“Interpret it as you will, Miss Black,” Jeremy said, again in that soft, almost gentle voice, “but I don’t think you should allow it to prey on your mind.”

Eleanora wanted to say something snappy to him, something like, “how could it not prey on my mind?” but before she could, Jeremy clapped his hands together.

“In any case, I can’t help but notice that you seem to be having trouble preparing tonight’s dinner. If you don’t think it too bold, might I offer you my assistance?”


	42. Chapter 42

The sun came out the very next morning. It was surprisingly cheering to see it, despite the unpleasantness of last night.

Eleanora had been sure that the murderer was Earl Grey. All signs seemed to point to it, but for some reason, that diamond man—who she hadn’t even given a thought to—had done it. She wasn’t sure why; she didn’t particularly understand the motive; if she was perfectly honest, it all seemed too convenient. As if they were hiding something.

Then again, she didn’t really know who “they” were. The Earl of Phantomhive? Unlikely. What did he have to hide? He had thrown a normal party, not even messing about with the criminal underworld. The butler? But he was dead. Jeremy? But he was a pastor—and he was leaving this very morning. The whole thing was highly suspect, but Eleanora suddenly realized that she didn’t want to think about it anymore. What a party. The whole thing had just been one long nightmare from start to finish.

And she was still husband-less. That was one problem solved—she would never be tormented by him again—but that also opened the doorway to tens of thousands of other problems. Where would she find another husband? Would she have to wear black for ten years? Did she still have a job? Would she ever find another job? Who the hell was that woman in the photo album? And would she come for Eleanora’s blood, saying that she had caused Michaelis’ death?

She was so, so tired. All she wanted to do was sleep. She said goodbye to Pastor Jeremy and thanked him sincerely for all of his help. Who knew? Maybe without him, everyone in that manor would have slowly died off, one by one.

“Goodbye, Miss Black,” Jeremy said, kissing her hand like a true gentleman. “Please do look after yourself.”

She had thought that he would offer her assistance whenever she would need it, but maybe he thought that she didn’t need it—or want it—or refuse it if it was offered. It actually would have been nice to have the help of a real gentleman whenever she would need it, but maybe she was already asking too much. She had known him, and that was enough. It was cheering to know that there were still real gentlemen like that in the world.

“That’s the man I should have married,” she thought as she watched him leave. “Maybe I should have offered him my maid services, and then, in a year or so…But never mind that now.”

She would probably never see him again anyway. And they had gotten along so well…But it was no use crying over spilled milk. Everyone was exhausted; the Earl had kindly given them the day off so that they could properly recuperate over the events of the past days. Eleanora dragged herself upstairs, to where the women slept, and collapsed onto her bed. Her last thoughts were of Pastor Jeremy:

“That’s odd,” she thought as her eyes closed, “I’m sure that we were never actually formally introduced, but for some reason, he knew that my last name was Black. Must be his detective skills or something.”

And then she was asleep.


	43. Chapter 43

The funeral for the butler was held the next day. All the strange numbness that Eleanora had felt upon seeing his body for the first time came back—that feeling of impossibility; that what was happening couldn’t really be happening; that it’s all just a bad dream.

But no, it was really happening. This was really happening. They were actually burying the butler.

She thought that it was a bit disrespectful to bury the man dressed in his tailcoat. She thought that the Earl could have sprung for at least a suit or something, something that didn’t relate to service. The man had served all of his life and now he would be serving in death, not a chance of freedom even after life. How sad.

She didn’t look at the body as it passed. Instead she stared at the tombstone. It was a nice enough stone; she liked the saying on it—May ye be in heaven an hour before the devil knows you’re dead—although she didn’t know why it applied to the butler. Maybe he was a sinful man.

But of course he was a sinful man; and probably insane to boot; no nice, normal man would go around kidnapping and then torturing maids so that he could get married. It was foolish to pity him; he didn’t deserve any pity.

So why did she feel as if she was going to start crying?

“Nerves,” she consoled herself. “Pure nerves. I hate funerals. I’d cry if even a demon was being buried.”

The coffin was placed in the hole and the dirt was tossed over it and they were starting to go back home again when Elizabeth—Ciel’s fiancée—suddenly threw herself at him.

“He lied!” she sobbed. “He promised you that he would never leave you! He lied! How could he! He lied!”

Now everyone was crying and Eleanora had to look away again. For some reason she was recalling the marriage vows that she had once heard before:

“From this day forward, know that if you fall, I will lift you up. If you lack the strength to go on, I will carry you. If your path is dark, I will light your way. If you are threatened by the storm, I will be your shelter, and walk beside you all the days of my life.”

“How funny,” she thought. “It’s almost hilarious, even.”

She continued walking away from the grave, away from the body of her husband, when suddenly she heard a bell ring. She turned to look—the safety bell on the gravestone was ringing.

Finny noticed it as well.

“Look—”

Now everyone was looking at the ringing bell.

“But there’s no wind or anything…”

The Undertaker grinned.

“Well, then, you know then that there’s only one other reason for a bell like that to ring…”

Everyone looked at him for a while, then understanding dawned.

“Get him out of there!” Bardroy shouted and suddenly they were all on the ground, clawing at it, bringing up the coffin again, opening it…

“Ahhh,” Sebastian sighed, sitting up. “I’m finally out of there; it was getting quite cramped.” He looked up at the assembly with a frown—“Everyone—”—They were leaping for him—“Oh.”

And they landed on him and there were tears from all and that foreign butler was screaming that it was a miracle from God and the servants were hugging him and drenching him with their tears and the Undertaker was commenting that in all of his years as a funeral worker he had never actually seen one of the bells ring and Eleanora was just standing there.

Eventually everyone had calmed down enough for Sebastian to actually get out of the coffin.

“Ugh, I’m covered in tears and nasal secretions,” he groaned and the Earl of Phantomhive offered him his handkerchief to get him cleaned up.

Misery had gone; now joy reigned rampant and didn’t seem to want to ebb away. They were all again heading back for Phantomhive, but this time for a celebration. There was talk of wine and good food and everyone was smiling and so, so happy.

Sebastian dropped back to walk with his wife, who was striding demurely, watching the scenery go by.

“Hello,” he said. “Long time no see.”

“Indeed,” she said calmly, like she was used to seeing butlers pop back up from the grave after they had just been buried.

“Did you miss me?” he asked.

“I didn’t have enough time to,” she said.

“A pity,” he said. “Perhaps I should have been dead for longer.”

“And maybe you should have remained dead,” she told him, but as they continued walking, she slung his arm through his.


	44. Chapter 44

Sebastian was at the Undertaker’s, toasting his success. It wasn’t every day that a butler could live through an attempted murder, single-handedly stop a murderer, frame an innocent man, get away with it, and come out scot-free with not even the slightest trace of suspicion on his good character. Plus his wife seemed to tolerate him more, which was definitely an added bonus. She was much more smiley now. It was quite the improvement.

He was rather tempted to get roaring drunk, and was about halfway to obtaining this goal when the Undertaker said something that made him reconsider things.

“Good job,” he said, smiling at him. “Nice work—in all things.”

“Yes, thank you; it was nice work, wasn’t it?”

“And nobody suspects you?”

“Not at all. Everything is just perfect.”

“And it’s so nice about Miss Black and all.”

“Right.”

“She wasn’t upset?”

“Not at all.”

“She’s so understanding!”

“Yes, it’s hard to find a nice lady…”

“Especially a human one.”

“Naturally. Pardon the expression, but I do believe I’ve ‘hit the jackpot’ with this one.” The wine was making him a bit more agreeable than usual; he smiled upon thinking of his wife.

“She’s definitely a winner.”

“Far better than that.”

“And she really wasn’t upset?”

“Well, she was a bit odd about it at first, but she calmed down quickly.”

“Another woman’s reaction might have been a bit stronger.”

“She can be pretty collected if need be.”

“I mean, I know that I would be pretty upset if I learned that I was married to a demon!”

Sebastian paused from pouring himself another glass.

“…Say that again?”

“I said that I would be upset if I knew that I was married to a demon.”

“Oh. Is that what we were talking about?”

“Naturally. What did you think?”

“I thought that we were discussing her reaction upon realizing that I was alive after appearing to be dead.”

The Undertaker looked at him.

“…You mean you haven’t told her yet?”

Sebastian finished pouring out his glass.

“…No.”

“Are you going to?”

“…Yes.”

“When?”

“…Soon?”

“I don’t like all these hesitations,” the Undertaker said sternly. “The girl deserves to know.”

“But if I tell her, maybe she won’t be as affable to me.” He stared up at the ceiling. “You know how long it took us to get this far? Before she wouldn’t even look at me; she spoke to me as if I was the worst evil this world has ever known. Now she smiles at me every other day or so. This is vast improvement, and now you want to get rid of it all?”

“The best relationships are founded on honesty.”

“That’s cute. Where did you get that from? My father?”

“No, his proverbs mostly revolve around food and sex.”

“Too true,” Sebastian said and drank his wine, thankful that the topic had been changed. But the Undertaker just came back to it.

“Now, about Eleanora…”

“What about Eleanora?”

“When are you going to tell her?”

“Why do I have to tell her? She’s happy without knowing.”

“But eventually she’s going to find out.”

Sebastian scoffed.

“Sure she will. Just like all the other humans who have met me.”

“I’m serious. She’s a clever thing; either she’s going to figure it out herself or someone is going to tell her. And believe me, she’ll be a lot more upset if she learns from someone else than from you.”

“Undertaker, the likelihood of any of that actually happening…”

“But it could happen.”

“The fact that it could happen doesn’t mean that it will.”

“Need I remind you,” the Undertaker said icily, “that it takes six months to plan a wedding?”

Sebastian paused again and then stuck the tip of his little finger into his mouth.

“How long have you been married? Five months at least.”

“Seven this coming month,” Sebastian murmured.

“Precisely. Unless you keep on making excuses—good excuses—then by the end of this month she’s going to know. And by that time, it’ll be too late for you to save yourself, and hell hath no fury like a woman who doesn’t know something which she has then just learned.”

Sebastian rose up and began pacing the room.

“Undertaker,” he said, “what am I going to do?”

“You’re going to go home and you’re going to tell her,” the Undertaker said. “Here, I’ll give you a bottle for the road, just so that you can keep your courage up…”

“But I can’t just tell her! This isn’t like saying you’re out of sugar! You can’t just go up to your wife and say, ‘oh by the way honey, I’m a demon.’ Can’t you imagine what she’ll do to me?”

“No,” the Undertaker said and started giggling.

“What’s so funny?” Sebastian said coldly.

“Nothing,” he said and continued laughing into his wine glass. “Do you really call her ‘honey?’”

“Nobody can call Eleanora ‘honey’ and live.”

“Because I think that that would be rather cute.”

“We are not here to discuss if Eleanora and I are a cute couple or not! What am I going to do? You’re right; it takes six months to plan a wedding and we’re already into our seventh month…” His pacing grew faster as he continued chewing on his little finger.

“Just go home and tell her. That’s the best advice I can give you.”

Sebastian gave him a sad, puppy look.

“‘Just tell her?’”

“Just tell her.”

“There’s no other option?”

“None.”

“Really?”

“You have no choice, Sebastian.”

“Fine, I’ll tell her,” he sighed and brought out his watch. “I shall tell her a year from today.”

“What was that?”

“I said that I’ll tell her a year from today.”

“All I’m hearing is, ‘I’ll tell her mumble mumble today,’” the Undertaker said, “and I’ve been around the unholy long enough to know that they are masters of loopholes. So you’ll go home and tell her today.”

“Next month.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Next week.”

“A week from today.”

“If I must,” Sebastian sighed and they shook hands.

“Leaving already?” the Undertaker said. “Have another drink before you go?”

“I’ve lost the stomach for it,” Sebastian said and left.


	45. Chapter 45

Grell Sutcliffe approached Eleanora several days after the butler’s failed funeral. Eleanora wasn’t really looking forward to talking with Grell; she had never been particularly genial to her; but sometimes it just couldn’t be avoided.

“Hello Grell,” Eleanora said. “How are you today?”

“Just fine,” Grell said in that cold, stiff manner she always had with Eleanora. “Have you seen Bassy anywhere?”

“Who?”

“Sebastian.”

“Who?”

“Sebastian Michaelis!”

“Oh, him. No, I haven’t. I think he had to run out to go shopping or something.”

“Oh, well, maybe it’s better this way,” Grell said. “The next time you see him, could you please give him a message?”

“What kind of message?”

“Well, it’s fairly long; maybe I should write it down…” Grell fumbled around for a pen and a piece of paper. “Now, let’s see…It goes something along the lines of…Meet him at the…Or was it someplace else? Well, it was at six-thirty…or maybe seven AM?” 

“Maybe there’s someone else who could give me the message?” Eleanora said impatiently. “Or maybe you could write a letter to Mr. Michaelis or something?”

“No, I can’t remember it,” Grell sighed, “and the people who have the message aren’t staying here very long; in fact, they’re leaving tomorrow…” She gave Eleanora a look. “Why don’t you meet them in person?” she finally said. “They’ll give you all the information and it won’t take more than half an hour.”

“We-e-ell…”

“It’s reeeeaaally important, Lady.”

“Why can’t you wait for Mr. Michaelis to return? After all, it’s for him…”

“Because who knows when he’ll be returning and my coworkers are big into not working overtime and all that and they’re leaving tomorrow and can’t we just go?”

“Fiiine,” Eleanora sighed. “It’ll really only take half an hour?”

“Promise! Let’s go!”

Eleanora got permission from the young Master and then followed Grell outside, where a huge red car was waiting.

“Nice, isn’t it?” Grell said, smiling toothily at it. “You can’t imagine how hard it was to persuade Will to get it for me…”

“I’ve never ridden in a car before,” Eleanora said excitedly. “Does it go fast? Really fast?”

“It goes fast,” Grell said, hopping into the driver’s seat. “Now let’s go before they lose patience with us! They said that they’ll be meeting us at some café in London…”

Eleanora jumped into the passenger’s seat and the car took off. It was great. Eleanora decided right then and there that she was going to ask for a car for Christmas—or her birthday—or something.

True to Grell’s word, her coworkers were waiting for them in a café: two men. The first one was very impatient, irritably tapping the table, with brown hair neatly slicked back from his face. The second one was some younger hooligan, with blonde-and-brown hair who looked familiar…

“I know you,” Eleanora said. “You’re that nut who shot the butler in the East End that one time.”

The young man giggled and shot a nervous look at the brown-haired man, who glared at him and stood up.

“You are Mrs. Michaelis, I presume?” he said in a prim voice as they shook hands. “I never imagined someone of his kind getting married, but then again, they’ll do anything for a soul…”

Eleanora forced a laugh and glanced at Grell, who looked a bit awkward herself.

“I see that you’ve met Ronald Knox,” the man continued, looking at the hoodlum, “and I am William T. Spears. You might call me Grell’s boss.”

“A pleasure,” Eleanora said and sat down across from Will. “So why did you want to see me?”

“We have a message that we would like you to convey to your husband,” Will said. “It pertains to these recent murders of the noble class.”

“Oh. That’s still going on? I thought it had stopped…”

“The flow of the murders has stemmed with the rescue of Wallace W. Wallace, but they have returned in full force. I can’t believe that I’m saying this, but,” Will sighed, “we are in need of your…husband’s assistance.”

“Why? What can he do?”

“He can tell us why the human souls are missing and how they have been extracted, perhaps even tell us who has taken them. It would be a colossal help.”

“And…how would he know all those things about souls?”

Will scoffed and waved his hand.

“He’s a demon. Demons know everything there is to know about souls. Now, will you please give him this letter for us?”

Eleanora wordlessly took the letter and then suddenly forced a laugh.

“Him? The butler? A demon? Surely you’re joking. There’s no such thing.”

“I am not one for ‘jokes,’” Will said and then looked up at her. “Oh. I see that he hasn’t told you yet. Well, I can’t say that I’m surprised. His kind are notorious for failing to tell the complete truth…”

“He’s not a demon,” Eleanora insisted. “Demons don’t exist.”

“You mean you really haven’t discovered it for yourself?” Will asked, giving her a look with his steely green eyes. “Then think about it for a time, and I daresay that you will kick yourself for not realizing it sooner. But until then, I bid you good evening. Come Grell, Ronald. We’re going. Pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Michaelis.”

“It’s Miss Black, actually,” Eleanora murmured, but by then the three had gone. She almost would have thought that they had never been there to begin with, but then again, she was still holding the letter. Sebastian Michaelis had been written on it in stiffly neat black handwriting.

She slowly rose up from her seat and began walking home, trying to think. However, her mind was in that mood where it didn’t particularly want to focus on anything. Once she arrived at Phantomhive, she realized that she hadn’t figured anything out.

She dropped the letter on the kitchen table, where the butler was sure to find it. It was already pretty late; she went up to her room and collapsed on the bed.

“Demon,” she thought. “That man said that my husband was a demon. But that’s not true. It can’t possibly be true. Demons don’t exist. They’re just some legend to keep little kids from being naughty, like unicorns. They don’t exist. They can’t possibly. He was just poking fun.”

Somehow her mind wasn’t convinced.

“I’ll sleep on it,” she decided, “and when I’ll wake up, I’ll realize that it couldn’t be true.”


	46. Chapter 46

Eleanora woke up, cold with fear and dripping with sweat. It was painfully obvious to her now. 

Of course he was a demon! What else could he be? It all made sense—how he was able to find her with his eyes closed when the Earl needed help for that first ball…How he was able to cut off parts of her arm and then reattach them…How he could remove her lady parts and then put them back…How he could survive being shot in the East End…The way he took down that would-be robber…Those contracts in his desk drawer…How he had somehow managed to be alive even after being murdered…It all made sense. It was all coming together. He was a demon.

Eleanora shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself. As she did so, she touched her left forearm and remembered the pentagram symbol. She immediately leapt out of bed and yanked her nightgown off and stood in front of the mirror, staring at it.

Weren’t pentagrams the sign of the Devil? Of course they were. And she had signed a contract with a demon. She groaned and almost fainted. This mark on her arm was a symbol of the contract. It meant that she was a demon’s prey…It meant that he was going to eat her soul and condemn her to hell for all eternity.

Then she really fainted.

She woke up a few minutes later with someone knocking on the door.

“Miss Black,” the butler—the demon—called out, “are you alright? We heard a thumping noise downstairs, as if something had fallen…”

Eleanora was too scared to answer; the demon knocked again.

“Miss Black? Are you in there?”

He tried the doorknob and then Eleanora snapped back into reality.

“I’m here I’m fine everything is just fine just don’t come and don’t open the door!” She leapt up and hurled her body against the door, breathing hard.

“Certainly,” the butler sounded a bit confused, but masked it fairly well. “If you’re sure that you’re alright, I’ll see you downstairs.”

She didn’t relax until she heard his footsteps fade away. Then she got back to the issue of the contract.

Maybe she could cut it out? Maybe that would help? Maybe then it would just…disappear? Of course, she wouldn’t try to chop off her whole arm; just kind of cut the skin away…

She tried. It was horrible and painful and she didn’t want to look at the final result, but eventually the skin that had the demon’s contract on it was tossed into the embers of the fire and then burned and she quickly bandaged up her arm and put her long white gloves on and began to leave the room…

Shit. Demons were lustful. Isn’t that what all the religious people said? Wasn’t there a certain type of demon who made love to women while they were asleep? Eleanora stared at her bed. Did he…Maybe…Did he do that to her? When she was asleep and defenseless?

She couldn’t think about that now; she had bigger problems. She stared down at her maid’s outfit. Before, she didn’t think that it looked particularly special; in fact, she thought it was really rather ugly and baggy. Now she realized just how tempting it was.

It showed off her curves and a bit of her chest; her ankles were slightly visible. She didn’t know what could set a demon off into a lascivious frenzy, but maybe just the slightest amount of bare skin was enough. She looked at herself in the mirror. Just how much skin had she shown off in the past couple of months? Maybe the demon was already frothing at the mouth, just thinking about soiling her body with his wicked hands…

She furiously dug through her clothes, looking for something—anything—that resembled a sack more than actual clothing. She found a maid outfit that was several sizes too small and thought that that might work, when she remembered that tightness meant showing off more things. The outfit that she was wearing was one of the biggest things she had.

She looked around her room for another excuse to stay in there for longer and couldn’t find anything. She touched her hurt arm for luck, took a deep breath, and then went downstairs to face the monster in the kitchen.


	47. Chapter 47

Sebastian looked up upon hearing footsteps. Eleanora was entering the kitchen, looking tired and nervous.

“Hm? Oh, you’re here. I thought that you were still in your room.”

In fact, he was sure that she was still in her room; he could still faintly sense her presence up there…But clearly she wasn’t up there as she was now down here. He turned away from her and tapped at a recipe in a cookbook.

“The young Lord requested this today; please assist me in making it.”

Eleanora wordlessly began. Sebastian wondered if she was feeling well. Her skin was even paler and thinner than normal and her eyes had dark circles underneath them. Maybe she had a nightmare. She didn’t wish him good morning as soon as she entered, the way that she normally did. Perhaps it slipped her mind. Well, no matter. It wasn’t important.

He got out the pepper and accidentally sent a cloud of it up into the air, which he inhaled and then he sneezed.

“Bless—” Eleanora began automatically, then stopped and looked away. Sebastian turned to look at her; her lower lip seemed to be trembling.

“Miss Black?” he asked. “Are you alright?”

“F-Fine,” she choked out. She raised an arm up and wiped her eyes but Sebastian wasn’t focused on that.

“Miss Black, you’re bleeding.”

“Hm? Oh, no I’m not; I’m fine, really…”

“No, you’re bleeding; let me look at it…” He stretched out and gently took her left arm and then she screamed and wrenched herself away from him, falling to the floor.

“Miss Black—” He moved to help her up but she flinched as he approached and he stopped. “Miss Black…”

“Don’t…” she panted, staring up at him with wide, fearful eyes, “don’t touch me…”

“Why, certainly, if you don’t want me to, but Miss Black…”  
Then the other servants entered and Eleanora rose up and continued with the breakfast preparations, as if nothing at all had happened.

But Sebastian kept on sneaking looks at her. There was a frightened, hunted look in her eyes and he wanted to know why.


	48. Chapter 48

Ciel had also noticed that there was something wrong with Eleanora. She wasn’t her usual sassy self. When he dropped a pen and asked her to pick it up, she did so wordlessly, without asking if he had just lost his arms recently. He also noticed the frightened look on her face and the way that she always seemed to be jumping at everything.

Then Sebastian entered with the tea.

“Oh! Eleanora. I didn’t know that you were here.” He frowned at her. He hadn’t known where she was all day. At first, he could have sworn that she was in her room, but then she arrived in the kitchen and the feeling faded. And then he couldn’t tell where she was. It was very disorienting.

And then her arm started bleeding again and she quickly tugged down her sleeve to try to hide it. Sebastian made a mental note to ask her about it again, when everyone else would have gone to sleep. Maybe she cut herself somehow. He would have to tell her to be careful; her upper left arm was where the contract was, and if the contract was somehow removed, he wouldn’t be able to find her…

His eyes widened and he almost spilled the young Master’s tea.

“She didn’t…”

Eleanora had blended into the shadows and was sticking to the wall, as if desperate to go unnoticed by him. But her arm really was bleeding, he could smell it; but why would she want to remove the sign of the contract? He would definitely ask her about it later.

He was so upset and confused that he looked at her as she passed; she seemed to wither under his gaze.

“Maybe she’s not feeling well,” he thought as he left the room, remembering that one time when she had fainted. “Overwork, probably. Maybe she’s delusional. I’ll allow her to go to bed early tonight, if she’s really ill.”

Eleanora waited until the demon was gone before leaving the safety of the wall. She clutched her left arm; it still hurt.

Meanwhile the young Master was studying her.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” he said, “but what was that all about?”

“What was what about, my Lord?” Eleanora said, trying to be innocent, which was difficult, considering that her voice was shaking. He had looked at her. He was probably thinking of ways to soil her—or kill her. She wasn’t sure which was worse.

“Why did you avoid Sebastian like that?”

She forced a laugh.

“Don’t I always try to avoid him?”

“Well, yes, but never like that.” Ciel gazed at her suspiciously. “You two aren’t fighting…are you?”

“N-No, sir…”

“Because Madam Red told me that she wants to see you two fighting, so if you are, I have to call her now.”

“My Lord, we aren’t fighting.”

“Alright, if that’s the way you want it,” Ciel said, but still kept on looking at her.

Eleanora shuffled nervously and then finally dared to ask a question:

“My Lord, is the butler—I mean, is he really—You know—A…demon?”

“Oh, is that what this argument is about?” Ciel went back to his papers. “Yes, he’s a demon. I’ll call the Undertaker; he’ll be glad that he told you; he’s been on my back telling me to tell him to tell you; I’m glad it’s over with.”

Eleanora looked even sicker, if that was possible.

“So…he really is a demon?”

“Naturally.”

“What is a demon doing here?”

“We have a contract.”

Now she just looked horrified.

“You have a contract with a demon? Why?”

Ciel sighed and looked up at her.

“It’s a long story. Would you like me to tell you now?”

Eleanora hesitated, then nodded.

“Alright,” Ciel said, pushing aside his work. “I hope that you’re comfortable standing, because this might take a while.”


	49. Chapter 49

Sebastian was waiting for Eleanora in the evening, after all of the servants and the young Master had retired. She was slogging down the stairs, looking mostly dead than alive. Maybe she truly was ill. Perhaps she had eaten something she shouldn’t have. That fish he served for dinner did look a bit suspicious, but he figured it would be worth serving just to see the young Master vomit. He adored that look of suffering on such a little brat…

But never mind that; he had to talk to Eleanora. He took a step forward as she entered, but she didn’t even look at him.

“I’m tired,” she mumbled, heading for the servants’ upstairs. “I’m going to bed. Goodnight.”

“Miss Black, please wait; I must speak to you,” Sebastian said after getting over his initial surprise. They normally prepared for the next day together. They had a cup of tea. They would talk. Occasionally they would laugh. It wasn’t like her to blow him off like this. In fact, she hadn’t been behaving like herself throughout the whole day.

Eleanora shuddered at the foot of the stairs. She thought that she could get away with it. But of course she couldn’t have; she was just a stupid human; she was no match for a demon’s strength and intellect…

She hesitantly entered the kitchen, staying by the door that would lead to the upstairs, ready to run if necessary. But the demon didn’t look in a violent or lustful mood. He just looked confused—confused and offended. Had she offended him? Oh god, she was definitely going to die…

Eleanora’s legs trembled; her eyes rolled back in her head and she almost collapsed; she looked as if she had just resisted a faint. Sebastian wondered if he should call a doctor.

“Miss Black,” he said, “I couldn’t help but notice that you’ve been acting a bit strangely today. Are you feeling alright?”

“F-Fine,” she squeaked.

He frowned at her. Ohhh, she was going to die the worst death anyone could ever have…

“Really? Are you sure? Because—pardon my saying so—you don’t look well at all.”

He began approaching her, still frowning. The tortures at the church would be nothing compared to the pain that he was going to inflict on her right now…

“You look a bit feverish. Perhaps you had better lie down?”

He gently touched her forehead to feel her temperature. Eleanora made a very un-Eleanora-like whimper; her eyes rolled back; and she fainted dead into his arms.


	50. Chapter 50

The Undertaker arrived about half-an-hour later. He had arrived as fast as he could and so looked fairly disheveled.

“What is it? What’s going on? What happened?”

Eleanora was lying on Sebastian’s bed, panting and covered in sweat. Sebastian had taken her to his room, thinking that maybe she would recover from her faint quicker in more comfortable circumstances, but she had only gotten worse. Her temperature had increased; she seemed to be in a delirium.

“I don’t know,” Sebastian said, putting a cold cloth on her forehead. “She just…fainted.”

“When? Just now? What happened?”

“I don’t know,” he repeated. “We were just talking, perfectly normally, and then she fainted.”

“Well did you do anything?”

“Why is it that when something happens to a woman, the man is immediately blamed?” Sebastian scowled up at him. “I was inquiring about her health and then I touched her forehead and then she fainted. That’s it.”

“‘Her health?’ Has she not been feeling well?”

“She hadn’t been looking well; I was asking her if she was alright.”

“And she wasn’t?”

“Obviously,” Sebastian said and pushed a strand of her hair away from her face. Eleanora began moaning.

“No…”

“‘No?’ What is she saying? Did she just say ‘no?’” the Undertaker and Sebastian leaned in.

“No…” she whimpered. “No…I don’t…want to…”

“What does that mean?” the Undertaker whispered; Sebastian shushed him.

“I don’t want…don’t make me…please…please…I’m sorry…”

It seemed that she was having multiple dreams, dreams which she was not enjoying. Sebastian gently began shaking her shoulder.

“Miss Black, wake up. Miss Black, you’re dreaming. Wake up; everything’s fine, you’re perfectly safe here…”

“No…I’m sorry…Please don’t hurt me…Please…Someone…Save me…Anyone…Please…No…” She started writhing around in the bed; Sebastian pressed her back.

“Miss Black, wake up! Miss Black, you’re dreaming. Wake up!”

“Demon…” she groaned. “The demon is coming…”

“Demon? What demon?” Sebastian shook her a bit more furiously. “Miss Black, what demon? Are you in trouble? Miss Black!”

“The demon…” she whispered. “He’s coming for me…He’s going to kill me…The demon…My husband…Sebastian Michaelis…He’s a demon…Please…Save me…Someone…Anyone…Save me from…my demon husband…”

Sebastian stared at her and then collapsed back into his seat.

The Undertaker gave him a look.

“You…did tell her…right?”


	51. Chapter 51

Eleanora woke up in a cold sweat and tried to sit up when she almost vomited. There was a ghastly taste in her mouth and her stomach was writhing around, as if she had been force-fed something horrible.

She was in the butler’s—the demon’s—room. She was lying on the bed, but it didn’t look as if there was anyone else around. She examined herself; her left arm had been properly bandaged but she didn’t look as if she had been assaulted. There were three things on the bedside table: a half-filled bottle of medicine (which explained the taste in her mouth), a bowl filled with cold water where rags were soaking, and a covered plate, which contained soup.

The rag on Eleanora’s forehead fell off and she put it back in the water bowl. Then she slowly rose up, put her shoes back on, and then quietly left the room. Where would she go? She didn’t know. Probably back to her room. But what would she do about the demon? She couldn’t fight him. She couldn’t beat him at anything. The best she could hope to do was avoid him. But how long would that last? She couldn’t avoid him forever. She worked with him—hell, she was married to him! But then what was she going to do? She needed an expert on demons—a real expert. And then she remembered where to find one.

To get outside she would have to pass the kitchen. The demon and the Undertaker were playing some kind of game in there—the oddest game she had ever seen. It was something like chess—and something like checkers—and something like poker. Eleanora pressed against the wall, as close to the shadows as possible, and tried inching her way across, listening to their conversation.

“You should have told her earlier,” the Undertaker said.

“I didn’t know that she would find out so quickly,” Sebastian said.

“You should have assumed the worst.”

“If everyone assumed the worst, nothing would ever get done.”

Silence. Eleanora stopped and held her breath, waiting for them to continue talking so that she could use their voices to muffle her footsteps.

“She cut the contract out,” Sebastian said quietly. “Why did she do that?”

“Who knows?” the Undertaker sighed. “A man can never tell what a woman is thinking.”

Sebastian scoffed.

Eleanora didn’t hear what he answered, because by that time she had passed the kitchen and was able to run outside.


	52. Chapter 52

Father Brown was just about to close up the church. It was late and nobody would come until morning, allowing him time to get some much-needed sleep. He had closed and locked the doors and was just about to go home when someone approached him—someone in a long black cloak with a hood that hid their face.

“F-Father?”

Father Brown jumped and whirled around, staring at the hooded figure in horror. Who was it? How did they know who he was? Perhaps it was Death, coming to take his soul. Or perhaps…Perhaps it was a memory from that one time that he had sinned…

“Father, please, I need your help,” the figure said and pulled off their hood, revealing a woman with frightened blue eyes. Brown relaxed.

“Of course, my child; but couldn’t it wait until the morning? The church is closed, you know…”

“I’m sorry; it can’t wait. It’s really important.”

She must have seen that he didn’t believe her because she leaned in really close and whispered,

“It’s about a demon.”

A minute later, they were sitting in the church, drinking tea. Father Brown examined the woman as they sat. She didn’t look much like she would be a demon’s prey. Demons always went after young, beautiful women; Brown knew that; and while this woman had very lovely blue eyes, the harshness of the rest of her face severely diminished the effect.

“Well, my child,” Father Brown sighed after finishing his tea, “what is it? What about a demon?”

The woman paused for a moment, staring down at her cup.

“I have a friend,” she said in a low, scared voice, “and this friend has suddenly discovered that—through no fault of her own—she’s married to a—a demon, Father.”

Father Brown shot up several feet in the air.

“Married to a demon? But that’s—But that’s horrible! Why did she do that?”

“She had no choice. She only learned that he was a demon recently. She doesn’t know what to do, Father,” the woman stared up at him with pleading eyes. “Please help her.”

“Well, what is this demon doing? Is he…hurting her? Abusing her in any way? If that’s so, then perhaps she could escape it by calling the police…”

“N-No, the demon has only really hurt her once and that was a long time ago. It hasn’t happened since. Ever since then, the demon has been very polite to her…almost kind…”

“My child,” Father Brown said, grabbing her hands, “let me make this very clear to you so that you could make this very clear to your friend: demons are not kind. They haven’t the least scrap of kindness within them. They are horrible and evil and all they care about is devouring pure souls and dragging the innocent down to Hell. And it’s even worse for women—demons delight in taking a woman’s purity, usually by force, and they won’t show mercy or compassion and—above all else—they never fall in love. My child, get your friend out of this relationship as quickly as possible! Don’t hesitate, don’t assume that just because the demon is kind now it will always be kind. It’s just part of his trickery. It’s all part of his act.”

The woman had looked as if she was going to burst into tears, but she rose up with a nod and quietly thanked Father Brown. She turned to leave, then stopped and turned back.

“By the way, Father, do you know a pastor? A pastor Jeremy Rathbone?”

“Pastor Jeremy Rathbone?” Father Brown repeated. “No, never heard of him. And I know all the priests around here.

The woman nodded again.

“That’s what I thought.”

Then she quickly left the church, pulling her hood back up over her head, as if frightened that someone would see her.


	53. Chapter 53

The letter that the Reapers had sent to Sebastian was an invitation, telling him to go to a certain little town where they had temporarily rented a building. There, he would examine the corpses of the murdered nobles and tell the Reapers everything he could, particularly pertaining to the missing souls. Sebastian hadn’t wanted to go, but Grell said that Will was paying for everything, including food and board, and the young Master demanded that he go to find out as much as he could for Phantomhive’s purposes. So Sebastian packed a suitcase and then they all went to the train station to see him off—the young Master, the Undertaker, and Eleanora.

The Undertaker gave him instructions as they were heading for the train station: don’t touch the Reaper’s glasses; always be polite, especially to Will; don’t make jokes about eating souls; try to act as less demonic as possible; don’t touch the Reaper’s glasses; will he remember not to touch the Reaper’s glasses?

When he was done, the young Master took over and gave Sebastian some more instructions: find out everything he could about the murders; deduce if there’s a correlation between the murdered people; try to find a pattern in the victims; etc; etc; etc; Sebastian was already bored and he hadn’t even boarded the train yet.

They found the right train and then Sebastian turned to Eleanora to give her instructions regarding the manor: take care of things; look after the young Master; make sure the servants don’t burn the house down while I’m gone.

“You’ll only be gone for a week, you know,” Ciel said as Sebastian continued rattling off rules.

“A lot can happen in a week, my Lord,” Sebastian said, giving the young Master a look.

The train whistled; it was time to be off. Grell was already waiting for him in the car. Sebastian bowed to the young Master, shook hands with the Undertaker, and extended his hand towards Eleanora.

“Goodbye, Miss Black,” he said softly. “Be careful.”

Eleanora hesitantly extended her hand towards his, thought about her safety, and dropped her hand to her side, refusing to look at the butler.

Sebastian picked up his suitcase and boarded the train. It started to leave and he watched the three fade off into the distance—the young Master looking bored, the Undertaker waving, Eleanora not even looking at the train.

He sighed and settled back down into his seat. Grell took this chance to cozy up next to him.

“Sooo Bassy,” he cooed, slinging his arm through Sebastian’s, “here we are, all alone on a train, heading for the unknown…rather frightening, isn’t it?”

“Lord save me,” Sebastian thought and prepared himself for three hours of Grell-inspired agony.

The train left and Ciel turned to go home.

“Undertaker, are you coming back with us?”

“Oh, no; I have some business in town to take care of; you two kids go on without me,” the Undertaker cackled. Ciel shrugged and began walking away, with Eleanora following behind him. “Wait, Miss Black!”

They turned back again; the Undertaker strode up and deposited a package into Eleanora’s hands.

“Just something I bought for you,” he winked. “I mean, now that you know and all. Who knows? You might find it useful. After all, it takes six months to plan a wedding.” The Undertaker walked away, still giggling to himself like a madman.

“What is it? What did he give you?” Ciel asked, trying to look at it. Eleanora pulled the string and paper off it.

“It’s a book.”

“A book? What kind of book? What’s it about?”

“Marriage to Demons: a human woman’s guide.” She frowned as she read the title and began flipping through the book. “It’s all about demons.”

“Oh, I have something like that,” Ciel said. “Unholy books are great; they tell you everything you need to know; all you really have to do is ask.”

So saying, they left the train station and stopped by in town to do some shopping. By the time they arrived back at Phantomhive, it was already rather late.

“I wonder how Sebastian’s doing?”


	54. Chapter 54

Sebastian was having a horrible time.

William T. Spears had indeed paid for a room, but he only paid for one room, with only one bed—which meant that he and Grell would have to share it.

Sebastian was sitting at the desk in the room, reading, when Grell stepped out of the bathroom, wearing the sexiest lady’s negligee that would fit him. Few things terrify a demon, but when Grell stepped out, grinning and winking, Sebastian very quickly remembered what true fear was.

But he was a demon, and if there’s one thing demons are good at, it’s fighting back their urges. Sebastian easily held back the urge to run to London and nail boards over every door and window and instead rose up.

Grell curled up on one side of the bed, batting his false eyelashes. Sebastian shuddered and lay down on the other side, as far away as he could without falling off.

There was silence for a time, then Grell scooted closer to Sebastian.

“It’s cold tonight, isn’t it?” he whispered.

“Use a blanket,” Sebastian said.

Grell giggled and moved closer.

“Bassy,” he whispered, “aren’t you tempted?”

“If you snore I’m kicking you.”

“I mean, a handsome man like you…a pretty girl like me…”

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

“We’re all alone…in the same room…in the same bed…”

“I’m too tired to do anything strenuous.”

“Bassy!” Grell said and leapt on him.

Things happened rather quickly after that. Sebastian grabbed a pillow and was able to knock Grell out of midair with it. Then he rolled out of bed and threw a sheet over him, which gave him just enough time to dart for the bathroom and slam the door closed and lock it.

There was more silence, and then a knock on the door.

“Bassy?” Grell cooed.

Sebastian pressed his back against the door, already plotting an escape route.

“Bassy, I’m sorry. Won’t you please come out?”

“No.”

“I won’t do it again.”

He scoffed.

Eventually the knocking died away, but he remained vigilant. About three hours later, there was another knock on the door.

“Bassy, please open the door,” Grell whined.

“No.”

“But I have to use the necessary!”

“There’s a perfectly fine window in there.”

“But I can’t go like that! That wouldn’t be ladylike.”

“Perish the thought that you should do anything unladylike,” Sebastian mumbled.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

Another hour passed and again Grell knocked.

“Bassy, please, I’ve really got to go…”

“Hold it until morning.”

“But I’m going to explode!”

“All the better then.”

“You’re so mean!”

“You actually sound surprised.”

Another hour, another knock.

“Bassy, this is taking sadism to a whole other level. Please open the door.”

“No.”

“But why not?”

“Because I don’t trust you.”

“I bet that if I was Eleanora you would open the door.”

“Grell, if you were my own mother I still wouldn’t open the door.”

“But…but…please!”

“No.”

Sebastian remained pressed against the door until he saw the sun come out. Then he left the bathroom long enough to grab a change of clothes, and once he was properly dressed, he resumed his seat at the room desk and continued reading until Grell was ready to show him where the Reapers were.


	55. Chapter 55

The butler had been gone for several days, now. He would be returning by the end of the week. Nothing much had happened in his absence; the young Master had gotten ill and was still attempting to recover. Eleanora was sitting in her room, staring moodily at her left arm. It had started to heal and the symbol of the contract was coming back. She wondered if she could ever somehow manage to get it off. Probably not.

She sighed and wrapped her arms around her head. She was not looking forward to seeing the demon again. She still couldn’t forget what the priest had told her—that demons were horrible, unfeeling monsters who sullied young women for fun…Naturally she could assume all that on her own, but just hearing it from a real expert made it worse.

Her eye fell on the big black book that the Undertaker had given her. She hadn’t even opened it yet. Maybe it could help her—give her some information on how to assuage a lustful demon or something; maybe teach her how to properly beg for mercy when the demon would come and kill her…which it would undoubtedly try to do at some point.

She picked up the book and opened it to a random page. It was blank. She flipped to another page—blank as well.

“What the hell?” she thought, turning to the very first page. “Who gives someone a perfectly blank book?”

But she vaguely recalled seeing printed pages when she flipped through it the first time. Where did it all go?

The first page had answers:

How to use (it said): This volume contains everything a recently-married human woman might need or want to know about demons. Say out loud what you want to know to the book, or whisper it into its spine. The book can also read questions, but usually too many thoughts go through a person’s mind for the book to clearly distinguish them. It’s safer to ask the question out loud. This book contains information only about demons and will not answer any questions that might not in any way relate to them.

“Is this a joke?” Eleanora thought. “How can a book possibly read minds?”

She thought about demons—what she knew about them, what she feared about them, what question she should ask the book and turned the page.

She was sure that it was blank, but now it had something written on it: Demonical Consent.

“I guess that that was what was mostly on my mind,” she thought and read the page:

Demons, like all of the unholy, consider intimacy to be one of the purest ways to show affection for another person. Therefore, it is a very important, sacred act that both members need to agree to beforehand in order to make the experience as wonderful and as loving as it is considered to be. Forcing intimacy is incredibly taboo and is one of the very few approved reasons for divorce. Demons who force intimacy on another person—no matter the relation—are usually ostracized, if not killed.

“I can’t believe I’m believing an unholy book,” Eleanora thought, but as much as she hated to admit it, she felt comforted. She turned the page, thinking that maybe it would give her some more insight, but it was blank. Maybe she had too many questions for the book to read her thoughts.

The book mentioned divorce. Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe she could still divorce the demon!

“D-Divorce,” she whispered to the book and turned the page. Sure enough, the page’s content was all about breaking a marriage.

Divorce is considered shameful in all the unholy races, but probably none more so than the demon. Marriage is a contractual arrangement, and the demons hate nothing more than breaking a contract. Divorce is rarely pardonable, and most people who successfully have a divorce are social exiles. However, there are some scenarios where divorce is allowed:  
Forcing intimacy: this is never allowed.  
Adultery: Adultery is usually a vampiric issue, as demons consider infidelity as breaking the marriage contract, but on the off-chance that it does happen, after the preliminary tortures, a wronged spouse can pursue divorce.

“Preliminary tortures? These unholies don’t screw around, do they?”

Before the appointed Matri Verum date: occasionally, a lovesick contracted master will order their demon to marry them. The demon, naturally, has no choice but to agree. However, the marriage is not considered absolutely legal until the Matri Verum, so divorce is still possible and far easier to accomplish. Some demons have been married more than once to humans, but have easily gotten out of it because they have divorced their spouses before the Matri Verum.

“What the hell’s the Matri Verum?” Eleanora thought. “Could I use it as an excuse to get out of this sham?” She was just about to ask the book when she heard the servants downstairs screaming for her; Madam Red had called a doctor for Ciel and he had just arrived.


	56. Chapter 56

The Reapers had set up their base in an abandoned warehouse. It had taken a while for Will to get permission from all of them to have a demon enter their midst; even though the corpses were soulless, an unholy around made them testy.

There were five human bodies covered by sheets; Will said that they couldn’t get any more. Well, that didn’t matter. Sebastian recalled the young Master’s orders about trying to get any information about the murders and forced himself to pay attention to everything.

He approached the first body; two Reapers pulled the sheet back, exposing the man’s torso but tactfully keeping his lower half covered. Sebastian fired up his demon eyes and looked down at the man’s chest. Sure enough, he didn’t have a soul.

The Reapers hadn’t taken it. He could tell; the Reapers were wasteful and didn’t take the whole soul; they left parts inside the body (usually the yummiest). But it wasn’t demon’s work either; a demon would take the whole soul and nothing else and this body was missing a few strands from his heart. Also, he could tell that the soul had been extracted from a dead body and demons always preferred their souls fresh and wriggling.

A vampire, perhaps? Some vampires could extract souls from bodies. But vampires couldn’t digest souls and besides which, it was an onerous task for anything that wasn’t a demon to remove a soul. Also, if it was a vampire, they would have taken the whole heart and the blood. Sebastian picked up the man’s arm; he could still smell blood in his veins. So it wasn’t a vampire.

He closed his eyes to see better and pressed his head against the corpse’s chest, ignoring the Reapers’ whispers and how he was painfully aware that they were all defensively pointing their Death Scythes at him and then realized how the souls were removed.

“It was a mechanical soul remover,” Sebastian said, looking up at Will. “You know about those, I presume?”

Will nodded. The younger Reapers looked a bit confused, so he was moved to explain:

“Mechanical soul removers are handheld devices that extract souls from dead bodies. They’re mostly used in times of war when souls and contracts are scarce to feed the demons.”

“How big are these things?” one Reaper asked.

“Oh, about the size of a man’s fist,” Sebastian said, holding his up. “They only need to be slightly bigger than a soul.”

“Souls are that small?”

Sebastian scowled at the Reaper, who cowered under his gaze and hid behind a larger one.

“Normally they’re slightly spread around the body,” he said, “but when we eat them, we concentrate them into more manageable sizes, so yes, they’re smaller than expected. But their goodness isn’t ruined by that; oh, my no!”

His eyes rolled up in starving ecstasy; he licked his lips and a small, animal-like growl rumbled from his chest.

Will interfered before he could frighten more Reapers.

“Do you suppose a demon could have used one?”

“No, why would a demon need to use a device?”

“Fair point; what about another unholy?”

“Why would another unholy want dead souls? We demons are the only ones who can digest them.”

“Then a human?”

“That seems more likely,” Sebastian said, thinking. “A human who has somehow learned of the existence of demons and who somehow got their hands on a MSR and who wants to shift the blame onto the demons instead of onto him.”

“But doesn’t that seem a bit far-fetched?” someone asked.

“No, it happens more frequently than expected,” Sebastian said, rising up with a sigh. “You’d be surprised how many humans know about the existence of the unholy.”

“Do a lot know about…Reapers?”

“I’m told that they do in some parts of Africa,” Sebastian said. “Small, unimportant countries in darkest Eurasia. Places with lots of death.”

“What about demons?”

“Demons are mostly known in the Americas because so many young idiots try conjuring them. And England, of course, due to its long and bloody history of demonic persecutions.”

“What about others?”

“Well, the Russians know quite a lot about vampires because so many of them love the country. And Siths are well-known in Italy because of all the angels there. Ex-Angels are also known in Africa and darkest Eurasia. I’m sure there’s more, but I’m kind of on schedule.” Sebastian moved on to the next corpse, and the next, and told Will that all of their souls had been removed using an MSR.

“Undoubtedly you will be telling all this to your prey?” Will said as Sebastian was about to leave.

“Naturally. He ordered me to.”

“Then I suppose that we have no choice except in working with a human?”

“You could try and go it alone,” Sebastian shrugged, “but it’ll be harder to explain to the police if you get caught doing something you shouldn’t have.”

He grinned and left and even allowed Grell to cling to his arm as they made their way back to the hotel, even though he tossed him in the garbage when he touched the butler’s rear.


	57. Chapter 57

The telephone rang the day before the butler was supposed to come home. Eleanora answered it, thinking that it was a businessman of some sort, calling to say that the shipment would be delayed or get clarification on an order or maybe even the demon himself to let her know that his arrival would be changed in some way.

It was a man on the phone, a man with a strange, sing-song voice who asked to speak to the butler.

Eleanora hesitated before asking; most businessmen asked to speak with the butler because they didn’t trust speaking to anyone else, and she had gotten pretty good at faking a man’s voice. She held the phone back up to her face and said in the deepest, most butler-esque voice she could,

“This is Sebastian Michaelis, butler to the Earl of Phantomhive. How may I help you?”

Then the man on the other end giggled. There was something phenomenally disturbing in hearing that giggle. It made Eleanora want to drop the phone and run, but she remained on the line.

“Oh, there’s no need to be so formal,” the man said in a teasing voice. “Not with me, anyway. We already know each other far too well for such formalities. Or has the human world finally addled what little brains you had left?”

Eleanora remained silent, wondering where he was going with this.

“No doubt you’re confused as to my last statement?” the man asked. “There’s no need to say anything; I can read you like Braille, even when you’re three worlds away, you cheap piece of vegan bacon.”

“I’m…sorry?” she finally squeaked out. Maybe now was the time to say that the butler wasn’t home.

“The funniest thing happened yesterday,” the man continued. “It was just downright hilarious; I wish that you could have been there to see it. Our old friend the Undertaker called and we were just chatting about this-and-that, asking when he’s going to come down next, talking about fine wines; the usual; when he suddenly mentioned your wife.”

Eleanora suddenly couldn’t breathe; the man’s coldly pleasant voice turned icily dangerous.

“So naturally I asked what the heaven he meant by that statement and he asked me if I didn’t know and I said heaven no, I don’t know; what the heaven are you talking about and he said that you’re married. In fact, that you’ve been married for several months now.” The man took a deep breath and said in a voice as chilling as Death, “Have you forgotten that it takes six months to plan a wedding?”

It takes six months to plan a wedding. The Undertaker had said something like that too. What did it mean? She wanted to ask the man, but he suddenly seemed to lose it and began screaming into the phone.

“WHAT THE !!!, LARD? WHAT. THE. !!!? You, the blood of me—how dare you blatantly fail to give me this information? Why do I have to find it out from a third party? What—where you scared of something? Of what? Of me? Why? You know me; I wouldn’t hurt a cupcake; so why didn’t you tell me?”

“S-Sir,” Eleanora said, unable to control the tremble in her voice, “I-I have to tell you something…”

But she never got a chance to say that she wasn’t really Sebastian because the man’s tone suddenly turned suspicious.

“Your voice—It sounds different. Almost…female. It’s lost its manliness. Don’t tell me…” The man gasped and then began screaming again. “ROSE! It’s happened! I knew that it would happen; I always knew; they said it couldn’t happen but I knew that it could and now I have proof and goddamn it and ROSE!” Crashing sounds and then she heard the man’s voice in the distance, as if he was running away from the phone. “ROSE! He’s been a virgin for so long he’s degenerated back into a woman!”

Eleanora slammed the phone and stalked away, breathing hard. She didn’t know who that man was or what he wanted but she hoped that she would never have to talk to him again.

The phone rang. She turned back to it. Was it him again? If it was, she could just hang up. She didn’t necessarily have to talk to him. Besides, it could be a legitimate businessman. She hesitantly picked up the phone again.

“H-Hello?” she whispered.

It was a woman with a warm, musical voice.

“Good evening,” she said. “I was wondering as to who I may be talking to?”

“Th-This is Eleanora Bla-Michaelis, of Phantomhive manor.”

“I see. And…Is Mr. Michaelis there by any chance?”

“N-No…”

Then she heard the woman talking to someone else.

“See, I told you that it was a girl and not Sebastian; now you’ve gone and frightened her away.”

Then she heard the man in the distance, speaking a bit sulkily,

“I know women and I know men and let me tell you, if that boy doesn’t get some sex soon, he’s going to sprouting tits like nobody’s business.”

Eleanora immediately hung up the phone. She did not want to talk to that man again.


	58. Chapter 58

Eleanora was waiting the butler at the train station. She was not looking forward to it. Yes, the book that the Undertaker had given her had assuaged her fears some, but she was still scared of the demon. Perhaps it wouldn’t have been so bad if she had someone else to wait with, but the young Master was still recovering from his illness and everyone else had been too busy. So it was up to her.

The train pulled in; she straightened herself up and tried to appear as bored as possible. Demons didn’t scare her. Nothing scared her. She was as heartless as an ice sculpture, and twice as cold.

People began streaming out of the trains. One of them was the butler, looking around. Their eyes met and she swallowed hard and then stepped forward to meet him. He stepped forward too. Then he began moving quickly and then he was running and before she could say so much as, “welcome back” he had grabbed her waist and was twirling her in the air, smiling.

“Eleanora! I’m so glad to see you! Oh, you look just fantastic; let me get a good look at you…”

He set her down long enough to hold her head in his hands and smile at her. Then he hugged her and began whirling her around again, about three times more before setting her back down.

“How are you? I want to hear all about it,” he said and slung his arm around her waist, pulling her close. “It’s been far too long; I feel as if I haven’t seen you in ages…”

Eleanora blinked at him. She wondered if he was drunk.

And he was still smiling at her.

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s just that I’ve never seen you like this before.”

He laughed and cuddled her closer.

“I’ve never been so happy to see you before.”

“Well, what changed?”

“I’ve had quite a lot of time to think on this trip,” he said. “And seeing you, I’ve realized something important.”

“What?”

“Out of all the men in the four worlds, I am the luckiest.”

“Why?”

“Because I married you,” he said, cuddling her again, “and you’re not Grell.”


	59. Chapter 59

Sebastian lost his affectionateness once they had arrived back at the manor. Now he was all business again. His first duties, naturally, were to attend to the sick Ciel.

“The doctor recommended a change of air and a change of attitude,” Madam Red said, “which means no chasing murderers.”

Ciel wanted to protest, but Madam Red gave him a look and he just fell back into bed.

“Where’s Grell?” the Madam asked, turning to Sebastian. “Didn’t she come back with you?”

“No, he and Will had to discuss some things,” Sebastian said, shaking a thermometer. “He stayed behind, but he’ll be back.” He sighed, dreading the Reaper’s return already.

“Your information concerning these murders should help them considerably,” Madam Red said meditatively. “I’m sure that Ciel doesn’t need to get involved further. Now the Yard can take care of it.” Ciel again tried to protest and again she stopped him. “So now you can take him someplace else! Just like the doctor ordered—a change of air and a change of pace will certainly do him worlds of good.”

“But, my lady,” Sebastian said, “where would we go?”

Then the phone rang and he went to go answer it.

Meanwhile, Eleanora was sitting in her room. Things had turned out surprisingly well. The butler had been a little odd, but he had recovered and—most importantly—he hadn’t killed her yet. The young Master was sick, which significantly reduced his bratty orders and generally she was feeling pretty good with life. Her only real issue was what the Undertaker and the man on the phone had said: that it takes six months to plan a wedding.

She picked up the black demon book and thought about asking it. Maybe it wouldn’t have the answer. But then again, the introduction said that it did have all the answers, provided that the question somehow related to demons.

She opened it up—the pages were blank, as usual—and whispered, “six months to plan a wedding.”

She paused. Maybe it was too broad. She should have been more specific. But how could she have been more specific if she herself didn’t know what she was asking?

She turned the page; it had writing on it; the title was The Matri Verum.

The book had mentioned the Matri Verum before; she started to read:

The Matri Verum is a legal and moral contract, replacing and enhancing a traditional unholy wedding. The original Matri Verum was a preemptive strike against the humans who fell in love with their contracted demons. The humans would order their demons to marry them, and the demons would be forced to the ceremony. However, most of the demons would divorce their human spouses in less than a month and quite a lot of them got married and then divorced several times in one year. The sacred act of marriage was at danger of becoming obsolete, and so a new ceremony was created: the Matri Verum.

An unholy can still marry anyone, but now they have the deadline of a year. If they remain married for that year, it is assumed that the married couple is fated to be together and the Matri Verum is then conducted. This isn’t a problem for most demons that are forced to marry humans as the marriage is usually terminated in less than a month or so. However, if a demon and a human remain more-or-less blissfully married for a year, then the Matri Verum occurs. Usually this year is shortened to half of one, as it is assumed that a successful Matri Verum can be planned in six months. By the time the Matri Verum has finished being planned, a year has passed and the ceremony can be conducted in peace. Unholies are not considered truly married until the Matri Verum; the longest time a married demon can go without it is five years. The Matri Verum is also considered legal in all the other four worlds.

After the Matri Verum is over with, the rules of unholy marriage fully apply to the couple. Divorce is nearly impossible and the traditions of the unholy are also expected to be continued by the human spouse.

So that was it. The Matri Verum was the “real” unholy wedding. Eleanora put the book aside and tried to think. They hadn’t been married for a year yet. Maybe they could put it off. But the maximum amount was five years. Then where would she be? Then she would have no choice but to go through with it.

But there was still hope. The Matri Verum hadn’t happened yet. She could still divorce him. Divorce him, and there would be no shame on either side. Sure, she might never get another respectable job ever again, but maybe she could move to Siberia, where no one knew that she had ever been married. She still had options. Divorce wasn’t the end of the world.

Feeling much better about things, she rose and went downstairs to confront the butler. Now or never. It was best to get it over with as soon as possible. They had a pleasant run, but it was high time for it to be over with now.

The butler was talking on the phone.

“Yes—Yes—Mm-hm…Yes. Yes, I know. Yes, I’ll talk to her about it. Well, it might take her a little time, but I’m sure that she’ll come around…eventually. Yes. Yes. Yes, I understand.” Sebastian looked up and noticed her; he smiled and made a gesture signaling her to wait. “I have to go; she’s just come down. Yes, I’ll tell her right now. Goodbye. What?” His smile vanished; his eyes widened. “What? NO, nothing has sprouted! No, I am most certainly not checking!” He gave Eleanora another look. “Listen, I have to go. I’ll call you back. Okay? Yes. Yes. Goodbye. Love you.” He made two kissing noises into the telephone and hung up, turning back to Eleanora with a smile. “Miss Black. I was just about to call you down, actually. There’s a matter of importance that I must speak to you about…”

Eleanora took a deep breath. Now or never.

“Likewise,” she said, keeping her voice steady.

Sebastian looked surprised, but his smile returned.

“Really? Splendid! Then shall we sit down and talk about it?”

They sat at the kitchen table on opposite sides; the butler made some tea. For a while they just sat there, staring at each other and their cups before Sebastian cleared his throat.

“So, Miss Black, about that thing you wanted to talk to me about?”

“Y-Yes,” she said and cleared her throat as well. “You know, we’ve been married for quite a while…”

Sebastian’s eyes gleamed.

“Yes…”

“And we’ve had some times together; whether they were good or bad that’s not for us to say…”

“Yes…”

“And I’ve been giving this a lot of thought…”

He licked his lips.

“Yes…?”

“And I think that now’s the best time to get a divorce,” she finished.

Sebastian was so surprised that his face wasn’t even able to react.

“…What?”

“A divorce,” she repeated. “Now’s the best time to get one.”

“A…divorce?”

“Yes.”

“What—now? After all we’ve been through?” His face caught up with his emotions; he looked horrified. “We can’t get a divorce now!”

“And why not?”

“Miss Black,” he leaned in, “I’m not so sure you know this, but there’s a certain ritual that we have to do…”

“The Matri Verum? Yes, I’ve heard about it. But we haven’t been married for a year yet, so there’s still time to break it off.”

If Sebastian was surprised to learn that she knew about the Matri Verum, he didn’t mention it.

“But you don’t understand. We can’t. Not now.”

“And just why not?”

“Because…” Sebastian hesitated before answering, and when he next spoke, his voice was quick and quiet. “Because the date has already been set and the documents have already been prepared and the clergymen have been called.”

“WHAT? Since when? How? Why?”

Sebastian shrugged and leaned back, arms outstretched in helplessness.

“I didn’t have anything to do with it, but there’s nothing that we can do now. The church has been rented; the invitations have been sent out; the menu is being decided even as we speak…”

“But I can’t—Hold on. How can we possibly be married in a church? You’re a demon, for god’s sakes!”

“I’m a Satanist.”

“Holy hell cakes, I’m getting married in a Satanic church?”

“It’s not as bad as it sounds—”

“Yes, it is just as bad as it damn well sounds; there is no way in hell that I’m getting married to you…”

“Miss Black,” Sebastian’s eyes flashed dangerously, “I’m sorry, but neither of us have a choice. I’ve just received the train tickets today; we’ll be leaving tomorrow…”

“‘Leaving tomorrow?’ Just where are you two going?”

Eleanora and Sebastian flinched and looked up. Madam Red was standing in the kitchen, looking at them curiously.

“Where are you going and will it provide a nice change of air and of attitude?”


	60. Chapter 60

Ciel didn’t know what the argument about, and didn’t have the courage to ask. All he knew was that suddenly Madam Red was bursting into his room and telling him about how he was going to go and get a change of air and then he was at the train station with Sebastian and Eleanora, who weren’t talking to each other—again. Ciel was really getting rather tired of all of their arguments; he was tempted to order Sebastian to get him to kiss and make up, but Eleanora probably wouldn’t have enjoyed it at all.

They passed all of the trains until they reached the one on the very end: the big black one with the red 666 on it. There was some kind of checkpoint to get on the train; they stood in one of the lines and Sebastian removed a small black book with several papers tucked inside it.

“Documentation, please,” the lady at the counter said once they arrived at her. Sebastian gave her the book; she opened it and examined the loose papers, glanced at each one of them in turn, wrote something down in another book and gave them their tickets.

“Enjoy your trip,” she said and then they boarded the train.

Eleanora sat across from Sebastian and stared out the window, never looking at him. Ciel couldn’t tell if Sebastian was upset at this, but he kind of growled when Ciel tried to sit next to him.

The train pulled out of the station and they were off.

“By the way,” Ciel said, his voice hoarse from sickness, “where are we going?”

“You mean you agreed without knowing?” Eleanora said.

“Hell,” Sebastian said.

“Hell? As in…as in…as in your Hell? As in…where the sinners go?”

“The very same.”

“And why are we going there?”

“To get married.”

“But I thought that you were already married?”

“This is the real marriage,” Sebastian said and Eleanora groaned.

Hours passed. The train steadily continued. Ciel fell asleep on Eleanora’s lap and she was just about to fall asleep herself when there was a sudden jolt and she fully awoke.

Where were they? They had just been in England. It had been the morning. Why was it suddenly so dark?

She looked out the window; it was all dark outside, but in the distance, she could see huge cliffs. England certainly didn’t have those.

She turned to ask the butler what on earth was going on, but her fear froze her into silence and stiffness, as usual.

The butler had turned into a monster. Instead of feet, he had huge bird’s talons. His legs had grown lanky and black. Black feathers sprouted on his arms and instead of hands he had claws. Feathers grew on his head instead of hair and they limply fell down around his face, mirroring his hairstyle in the real world. His face had grown black and leathery and his mouth and nose had been replaced by a beak.

“Don’t scream,” he said when he noticed her staring. “We’re passing through the Threshold. All unholies turn into their true forms at this stage.”

“The…Threshold?” she squeaked.

The monster nodded once, making his feathers rustle.

“The world between the worlds, if you will,” he said and then the darkness outside vanished and light was again restored.

The butler shuddered and his feathers melted back into his skin. The ones on his head fell off and were quickly replaced by real hair. His skin turned white and the beak shrank back into a mouth and a nose and within seconds he was his normal self again.

Eleanora swallowed hard.

“What—How—Who—What?”

“That was my true form,” Sebastian said, looking out the window again. “I haven’t shown it to a human in a long, long time.”

“Not even the young Master?” She looked at the sleeping Earl.

“No, not even him. He’s seen my partial true form and thinks that it’s my real form, and I would like to keep it that way.”

“Your…partial true form?”

Sebastian sighed and shuddered again. Wings grew from his back, real, demonic wings; and horns rose from his head. The sight was still terrifying, but he still looked human. He neatly folded his wings back into his body and the horns retracted back into his head.

“That’s what the young Lord thinks my true form is, and it would be much appreciated if you don’t correct him.”

Eleanora didn’t answer; she went back to looking out the window. This scenery was also somehow different. It looked too…perfect. The grass was too green. The sky was too blue. Even the trees looked almost candy-like.

“Where are we?”

“I told you—Hell.”

“Hell doesn’t look like this.”

“And I’m sure that you’re the resident expert on what Hell looks like.”

“But where’s all the fire? The sinners burning? The screams?”

“Oh, that’s all down in the tenth level. We’re in the seventh.”

“There’s…levels?”

“Naturally. If we all lived on the tenth level, none of us would get any sleep.”

Several more hours passed and the train stopped in a big city. Sebastian rose up and got the bags down.

“This is our stop; let’s go.”

Eleanora shook the young Master awake and they stepped out into the seventh level of Hell.

Just like in London, there were people everywhere. Children running around and screaming. Men chatting in groups. Women gossiping with baskets. There was even a group of angels waiting on the platform, trying to get the passersby to denounce their wicked ways and become holy.

They had to go through another checkpoint, the way that they did before getting on the train. Then they stepped out into the city and Sebastian hailed down a cab.

He gave the address to the cabman in a strange language, who gave him a horrified look, but didn’t argue, especially when Sebastian gave him half of his fare in advance.

Ciel settled back into Eleanora and they watched the unholy city pass as they left it.


	61. Chapter 61

They arrived at wherever-they-were-headed-to at a very late time. They had left the city—and any other towns—hours ago and were now being driven through miles and miles of open country until they reached a huge gate, where the cab dropped them off.

Sebastian finished paying the fare and waved as the cab left. Then he opened the gate and they slipped inside.

Ciel looked around.

“Where are we? Where are we staying?”

Eleanora suddenly had the horrible idea that the butler was planning on killing them here, where their bodies would never be discovered.

“You can’t see it yet,” Sebastian said, grabbing the suitcases, “it’s a bit aways from here.”

“You mean we have to walk?”

“No, nothing says that you have to walk,” Sebastian said cheerfully. “You could run if you want to.”

Several more hours later, a huge house came into view, which only got bigger the closer they went up to it. It was enormous, larger than Phantomhive, larger than Buckingham Palace, larger than anything either Ciel or Eleanora had ever seen before. The architecture was just as ominous as its size; both of them would have cheerfully turned around and walked back to the city to stay in a hotel, but Sebastian just entered as if he owned the place.

There was a man waiting for them in the door. He was handsome in a statuesque kind of way; his face had exquisite features but was entirely blank.

“Welcome home, my Lord,” he said in a monotone voice. “They have been expecting you for hours.”

“Why didn’t anyone come to meet us?” Sebastian asked, which was odd, as the man had said “my Lord” and the only lord around was Ciel. “We’ve been walking for hours.”

The man acted as if he hadn’t heard him; he picked up the suitcases.

“They’re waiting for you,” he said, “in the Main Drawing Room.”

“Then that’s where we have to go, I suppose,” Sebastian sighed and walked down the hallway, going up stairs and then turning into another hallway, with Ciel and Eleanora following closely behind him. They didn’t want to get lost in such a creepy house.

Sebastian entered a room and shut the door; it was pitch black. Ciel fought the childish urge to grab someone’s hand.

“Hang on; I know the light switch is here somewhere…” Sebastian said and they could hear him feeling the wall for the electricity…

He found it, turned it on, and there was an explosion of lights and shrieks and people.

People everywhere. They surged forward in one giant wave and they grabbed Sebastian and began kissing him and hugging him and tousling his hair and they never stopped talking in that bizarre language which sounded like Latin, leaving Eleanora and Ciel on the side, staring at the scene with their mouths open.

Suddenly the people quieted and released Sebastian, parting like the Red Sea to allow another person to enter their midst. Eleanora’s eyes widened. She recognized the woman. She was even prettier in real life…

She was the woman from the photo album.

Her hair was golden and still curled in ringlets. Her eyes were a beautiful sunset pink; her skin glowed and her cheeks were always blushing. Her bust was just the right size—not too large, not too small; she had the perfect hourglass figure; her posture was upright without seeming snobbish…She was perfection itself.

She smiled upon seeing Sebastian; her smile was just like his, only far kinder and lovelier. Sebastian smiled back at her and bowed. She presented her hand and he kissed it. He straightened up and then she kissed him: a kiss on the left cheek, a kiss on the right cheek, a kiss on the lips…Then they hugged. The woman whispered something into his hair and spat three times over his right shoulder. She held him closer and he was hugging her back; both of them were looking rather teary…

It was ridiculous to be jealous. Eleanora bit it back and tried to regain her usual bored face, only this time, she tried to add a little politeness too.

Sebastian released the woman and they began talking to each other in their language. Sebastian then gestured at Eleanora and the woman gasped. Her hands flew to her mouth and then sank back down; she was smiling.

“Eleampra,” she whispered and then took Eleanora’s face in her hands. She kissed her in the same way: kiss on left cheek, kiss on right, kiss on lips. Then she whispered another incantation and spat three times over her right shoulder, and then she hugged her.

She was so soft. She smelled like rose soap and some kind of spice. Then Eleanora was released and the woman turned back to Sebastian, talking eagerly with him. Then she seemed to remember something and turned and shouted at the crowd.

“Jen!”

There was a muffled explosion somewhere in the house and then a man burst into the room, coughing and shouting. Eleanora recognized his voice; never mind that he was speaking in a different language. He was still the man on the telephone.

He was extremely tall, taller than Sebastian, with his medium-length black hair tied back with a bit of dull red ribbon. His skin was unnaturally pale, whiter than white, his green eyes gleamed, when he smiled, he showed off his two teeth that looked quite a lot like fangs.

He sauntered up to Sebastian, who bowed and kissed his hand. Then the man did the kissing routine and then he grabbed the butler and began whirling him around in a hug, shouting and stopping every ten seconds to kiss him. Then several arms sprouted from the man’s sides and he was able to squeeze the butler practically to death.

Sebastian gasped out some things and the man set him back down. His arms shrank back into his torso and he turned to look at Eleanora, still smiling. He approached her; the temperature dropped several degrees. He was freezing!

He slid one of his fingers under her chin and forced her head up, examining her from all sides. Then he nodded, grinned, and whirled onto Sebastian, yelling at him. The people in the group laughed and Sebastian looked embarrassed, but he linked his arm through Eleanora’s and they went to every person, where they were then kissed and conversations were discussed.

Things were happening far too quickly for Eleanora to truly comprehend, but she realized that there were two kinds of people in that room. For convenience’s sake, she mentally referred to them as the pales and the healthy. The pale people were all like that first man: too-white skin, freezing cold to the touch, incisors that curved backwards. The healthy ones were like Sebastian and the woman: rosy skin, warm and soft, not quite so bony. But despite their physical differences, they all seemed to have several things in common: they enjoyed teasing Sebastian and making him blush; they liked touching her and smiling at her; they liked being hugged and kissed and laughing.

Eventually she had “met” everyone in the room and they were pushed down onto a couch. The young Master was pushed into a chair and the woman brought out snacks on trays and then several people brought out instruments and then they started to sing and dance. Some of the older ones—who Eleanora could only assume were Sebastian’s grandparents—didn’t dance, but they were the main ones who played the instruments and sang.

The two different groups of people had two different types of dances. The pale ones’ dancing was more erotic and chaotic; the healthy ones had very elegant and organized dances. Every now and then another song would come up and they would all dance together. The pale ones would snap their fingers to the music while the healthy ones clapped. Sebastian also clapped, but Eleanora just sat there. She had absolutely no idea what was going on or what they were even celebrating.

Then the tall man grabbed Sebastian’s arm and pulled him into the center of the room and forced him to dance and then he went back and grabbed Eleanora and then they were all dancing.

Suddenly an alarm went off and the woman jumped. She said something to the group and ran out of the room; several people followed her. Sebastian and Eleanora were allowed to sit back down on the couch, but they didn’t remain there long because the woman returned quickly.

She announced something and everyone cheered and then they all streamed into another room—a huge dining room.

“What’s going on?” Ciel whispered to Sebastian as they passed.

“We’re going to have dinner now,” Sebastian whispered back.

“Good! I’m starving.”

“Don’t let them hear you say that,” Sebastian said, “and don’t let them kiss you.”

“Why not?”

“Because if they kiss you, it probably means that they’re tasting you.”

Ciel’s mouth dropped open in horror, but he couldn’t say anything else because they had all sat down and the woman brought out the first course.

Sebastian and Eleanora were sitting on the far end of the table. Eleanora had lost her appetite, so she was mostly poking at her food, but she still realized that the woman was giving her the choicest parts of the courses. Everyone was talking and laughing and eating—she didn’t know that such people could eat so much food. Even the butler next to her could eat as much as them. Every sixth course, the green-eyed man would stand up and make a toast. Eleanora drank as well, only the wine was very strong and very sweet, so for every toast, she mostly just allowed the wine to touch her lips. It didn’t taste alcoholic at all.

She was starting to get full, even with her meager mouthfuls, and the courses still kept on coming, becoming more and more elaborate: whole roasted swans swimming in lakes of butter, a huge sow complete with cooked piglets, a peacock with edible feathers, fish caught in the act of jumping out of ice. Eleanora was starting to get a little sick.

“How many courses are there?” she whispered to the butler. He shouted something at the woman, who shouted something back.

“Six hundred and sixty-six,” he said calmly and agreed to another glass of wine.

“Six hundred and sixty-six?” Eleanora gasped. “Why so many?”

“This is a party; 666 courses is the traditional amount.”

Eleanora reduced herself to just tasting each course as it came; if she had attempted to eat as much as the unholies around her, she would have burst. One of the grandmothers started frowning at her and whispered to Sebastian, who said something back to her.

“What is it?” Eleanora whispered. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing,” Sebastian said, helping himself to some of her food. “She wanted to know if you were feeling alright.”

“Of…course I am. Why would she ask?”

“Because you’re not eating anything.”

“Well I can’t damn well fit in 666 courses, now can I?”

“I can,” Sebastian said, and cheered with the rest as the woman brought out the next platter: a fish that looked a bit like a baby whale, only it had several horns and shark-like teeth.

The foods just got more and more exotic. Ciel was also feeling ill and was able to politely reject some of the stranger meals. Eleanora didn’t have that luxury; she had to try everything, from the gelatinous thing that looked as if it was still squirming to the giraffe-like monster with several hundred legs.

The meal dragged on. The company grew louder and merrier. The food kept on coming.

Finally they reached the desserts, and there were only six of those. Then everyone rose up; the dinner was finally over with. They went back to the drawing room, where Ciel was again deposited into a chair with a platter of food and forgotten. All the attention was on Sebastian and Eleanora.

Shot glasses were distributed and then another bottle of wine was brought out.

“What’s happening now?” she whispered to Sebastian, weaving a bit from her full stomach.

“There weren’t enough toasts at dinner,” Sebastian whispered back. “We have to compensate.”

“You mean we’re playing a drinking game?”

“Try to keep up,” he said and winked.

Ciel was bored, bored and tired and sick. He was pretty sure that he wasn’t allowed to eat so much, especially when recovering after an illness. He wondered if he was going to throw up. Maybe if he did, they would cram more food down his throat. He listlessly watched the party as they threw back shot after shot. Eleanora was looking a little pale; she constantly had to grab Sebastian for support.

She didn’t know where she was or what was happening. The room was spinning around; everyone was laughing and talking which abruptly stopped as she staggered from the group. She was feeling ill, so, so ill; she knew that she shouldn’t have done whatever-it-was so much; she couldn’t remember how she had gotten this way, but something in the back of her mind told her it was due to that candy-red liquid that she kept on drinking.

She staggered down the hallways; constantly falling but someone would always stop her before she hit the floor and then she was turned into a bathroom and she fell before the porcelain throne and the room spun around several more times before she finally vomited.


	62. Chapter 62

Eleanora woke up, feeling extraordinarily odd. Her head was light but her stomach was full. She couldn’t move; she felt that even throwing her arm over her eyes would cause her to vomit again.

Sebastian was sitting next to her, looking at her with concern.

“Feeling better?” he asked, smoothing her hair back. “I’m sorry, I should have stopped you earlier.”

Eleanora groaned and tried to sit up; Sebastian assisted her.

She was in a beautiful, rich room, lying on the marvelous four-poster bed. Everything glimmered with elegance and wealth.

“Where am I?” she whispered.

“This is my bedroom,” he said. “I don’t think that you should come down again; I’m sure that you’re exhausted. The young Master has already retired.”

“I’m sorry I ruined your party…”

“Pssh, if we stopped every party just because someone vomited, we would no longer have parties and go to bed at decent hours,” Sebastian said. “We’ll continue as before, don’t worry. Are you feeling any better?”

Her stomach ached with too much food and her head hurt and everything was still a little fuzzy from the wine. Who knew that a non-alcoholic drink could pack such a punch? But still she nodded and forced a weak smile.

“I’m fine. I think I’ll feel better if I just lie here for a while. You go back to your party.”

“If you’re sure,” he said and kissed her forehead. “You rest here and try not to exert yourself. I’ll check up on you every half-hour or so. If you need anything, just shout.”

Eleanora managed a nod and Sebastian left her side. He opened the door and all of the guests immediately fell into the room, shouting. They scrambled up and fled upon seeing his expression.

“What was that?” Eleanora whispered. “What did they want?”

“Eavesdropping,” Sebastian sighed. “There are no people in the world quite like family, are there?”

He smiled at her and closed the door behind him. Eleanora settled down into the bed and closed her eyes. She felt too sick to sleep. She wished that she had a book to read…Maybe the butler had packed something in his suitcase. But that would involve rifling through his things without permission. But maybe he would understand if she was bored out of her skull.

She debated with herself over it for half an hour when there was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” she said, thinking that it was the butler, as promised.

It wasn’t Sebastian. It was the woman with a tray.

The man was also there too, but he hung back at the door, looking concerned.

“Good evening,” the woman whispered, approaching Eleanora.

“Oh! You speak English?”

“Both of us do,” the woman said, setting the tray down on the bedside table. “But most of the ones downstairs don’t. The Elders, for example. Never got around to learning a language other than their native tongue, I’m afraid.”

She uncovered the tray, revealing a glass of ice water and something that looked like a ball of mud held together with seeds and grass.

“I’m so sorry that you’re not feeling well,” the woman said. “Naturally we should have considered your fragile human health. But we were just so excited about meeting you! We naturally assumed you were family already.”

She helped Eleanora sit up and offered her the water. Eleanora drank it tentatively; she could barely manage a sip before her stomach complained.

“Poor thing,” the woman said. “This must have been a rough evening for you. But we haven’t even been formally introduced yet! I’m Rose, and that right there is Jean.”

She pointed to the man behind her, who grinned and blew Eleanora a kiss.

“I daresay you won’t want to eat anything in a long, long time,” the woman continued, “but I’ve brought you some medicine anyway. It’ll help settle your stomach and promotes good and fast digestion.”

Eleanora wondered what medicine Rose was talking about; she cut the mud ball in half and offered it to Eleanora.

“I know that you can’t imagine anything worse than eating,” she said upon seeing Eleanora’s horrified face, “but just manage this one bite and I guarantee that you’ll feel ever so much better in no time.”

Eleanora winced, but still obediently opened her mouth and the woman popped the medicine inside.

Ugh, it tasted awful. She was right to compare it to mud; it was like eating dirt treated with manure. Some spice had been added to mask its flavor, but that only made Eleanora want to throw it back up all the more. Maybe that’s what the woman meant by “fast digestion.” There would be less to digest if half of it was missing.

But she somehow managed to keep it down and the woman smiled at her.

“I’ll leave this here for you,” she said, removing the water glass from the tray and setting it down on the bedside table. “You don’t worry your pretty little head about anything. Could we get you anything else before we go? I’m sure that the company downstairs is already missing us…”

“Could I please have…a book?” Eleanora whispered tentatively.

“Why, certainly!” Rose said and strode over to the bookshelf on the room. “Hm…Hm…Hm…What to choose, what to choose?”

“The Kama Sutra,” Jean suddenly said. “Always a fun read.”

“No, there’ll be plenty of that on the honeymoon.”

“The honeymoon!” Jean sighed. “I still can’t believe you vetoed my glass room idea.”

“Because new couples need privacy,” Rose said, giving Eleanora several books, “and they can’t get in when they know they’re being watched.”

“Pffh, as if they’ll have any privacy about it afterwards. I won’t rest until I get every nitty, nasty detail out of that boy.” Jean licked his lips and grinned; his teeth flashed.

“Stop it Jean; you’re scaring her. She needs rest, now.”

“Certainly,” Jean said. “I know better than to toy with an exhausted woman.”

They both paused at the door and smiled back at Eleanora, who blushed and stared down at her hands. Jean sniffed.

“Dearest, are you crying?”

“I’m sorry,” Jean said huskily, wiping away bloody tears, “I just never thought that I would see the day that Sebastian would get married to really sexy lady.”

“Jean,” Rose said and touched his cheek. They smiled at her again and were just leaving as Sebastian was entering.

“What did they want?” he asked, sitting next to Eleanora.

“Oh, just to check up on me. Rose gave me some medicine.”

“Really?” Sebastian’s eyes gleamed. “Did you…like her?”

Eleanora thought back.

“Yes, I actually did,” she said. “She’s a very kind, lovely woman. And Jean seems nice too…in a weird, erotic way…”

“He’s a vampire; what did you expect?” Sebastian shrugged.

“A…vampire? Really? A real vampire?”

“Naturally. Half of my family is vampiric.”

“Does that make you half-vampire?”

“No, I’m all-demon.”

“But…how can you be all-demon if your father is a vampire?”

“Because when a child is born, it comes out either a boy or a girl. Same for the unholy. I could have been born a girl, but I was born a boy. Similarly, I could have been born a vampire, but instead I was born a demon.” He looked at her. “But, in all honesty, did you really like her?”

“I really did.”

“I thought that you might be jealous of her or something…”

“No, I’m not. She’s very agreeable.”

“And Jean? You liked him too? I know he can be a little off-color sometimes…”

“He seemed interesting.”

“That makes me so glad!” he said and kissed her forehead again.

“Really? Why?”

“Why wouldn’t it?” he said, smiling at her. “Every son loves knowing that his wife will get along with his parents.”


	63. Chapter 63

They were his parents! She was so glad that she had masked her jealousy of the woman. How childish would it be if she was envious of her own mother-in-law?

Eleanora felt much better; perhaps it was the relief that Sebastian wasn’t a polygamist or maybe the medicine was doing its job; but whatever it was, she read a few pages of one of the books and then fell asleep.

When she woke up, Sebastian was lying beside her, holding her hand in his sleep. She was still feeling as if she had been stuffed full of rocks, but she felt that she could move now. She slowly sat up and pulled her hand away from him. He twitched, mumbled something and instinctively started feeling for her. When he couldn’t find her, he woke up.

“Mmm…” he sighed, looking at her and smiling. “Lady…What are you doing?”

“I have to use the necessary,” she whispered.

“Hurry back…” he murmured and pointed to where the bathroom was.

Eleanora did her business and returned. Sebastian was now sitting upright, waiting for her.

“By the way,” she asked casually, sitting down at the edge of the bed, “what are you doing here?”

“Here? I was sleeping, until you woke me.”

“But…why are we in the same bed?”

“…Because this is my room?”

“You could have given me a guest room or something…”

“Eleanora,” Sebastian said, looking at her, “does sleeping together in one bed distress you?”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” she said and stopped. She glared at him. “Since when are you allowed to call me ‘Eleanora?’”

“I naturally assumed that, due to current events, I’d be allowed to call my wife her name.” He gave her another of his looks. “Is that a problem?”

“Yes it damn well is a problem,” she hissed. “Have you forgotten already how much I hate you? This…matri verum doesn’t change anything. You’re not allowed to call me Eleanora.”

“Oh, really?” he said and suddenly leaned in really close. “And just how are you going to stop me?” he whispered. “Hm? Eleanora?”

“D-Don’t call me that…”

“Then stop me…” he murmured and began leaning in, his eyes closed, he pursed his lips a bit…

“RISE AND SHINE, PANCAKES!!” Jean shouted, bursting into the room. “Guess who’s hungry?! ME! And Rose says that I can’t eat until I get at least two more people down here…Am I interrupting something?”

Sebastian’s face was still several inches away from Eleanora’s; his lips were still pursed.

Jean whistled.

“Weeell, getting a head-start on the honeymoon, are you?”

“Uh…No,” Eleanora said, scooting away from Sebastian. “We were just…uh…we were just…”

“Oh, I don’t mind,” Jean said, jumping on the bed and crossing his legs. “Pray continue at your leisure.” He removed a pair of opera glasses from his pocket and began watching them, smiling.

Sebastian just looked at him.

“Oh, don’t mind me. Don’t mind me at all.”

“I don’t think so,” his son said icily and stood up. Eleanora realized that he wasn’t wearing pants; just a long white shirt that barely covered his rear. He entered the bathroom.

Jean sighed and flopped back down on the bed.

“Well, that’s that. Are you coming down any time soon? I’m hungry.”

“Uh…Sure. Just as soon as he’s done in there.”

“Hurry down! We’re having bacon!”

Jean stood up and left. Sebastian exited the bathroom several minutes later, wearing a white shirt with black pants, no trace of the butler about him.

“What?” he said upon noticing her looking at him.

“Uh…nothing,” she said, and darted into the bathroom before he could ask any more questions.


	64. Chapter 64

Sebastian and Eleanora went downstairs at the same time; he had kindly waited for her while she was getting ready. Rose was in the kitchen, doing what looked like acrobatics. Jean was in the dining room, his head on the table. He looked as if he was asleep.

Rose looked up from cooking upon hearing their footsteps.

“Darlings! Welcome. Are you hungry?”

Eleanora immediately felt ill. Rose must have seen her expression, because she just laughed.

“Oh, my apologies,” she said and gave her another of those medicine mud balls. “You don’t have to eat anything. Last night must have been quite an experience for you! But you were such a good sport about it all. Wasn’t she a good sport about it all, Jean?”

Jean kicked and mumbled something about bacon.

“Anyway, why don’t you go and tour the grounds? The gardens are simply lovely,” Rose said and put a stack of pancakes on top of a huge tower of the things.

“Yes, why don’t we do that?” Sebastian said and began guiding Eleanora away.

“Wait, where are you going?”

“…To tour the gardens with Miss Black?”

Jean chuckled and grinned up at Sebastian.

“What kind of a nut addresses his wife by her last name?”

“Eleanora, then,” Sebastian amended, ignoring her glare.

“But you haven’t had breakfast yet!” Rose said, bringing out several plates of waffles. With eggs. And toast. And sausages. And half a dozen other things.

“I’m not particularly hungry—” Sebastian started, but Rose grabbed him by the cheek and sat him down in a chair.

“But you’re so thin, sweetie pumpkin! How are you planning to grow big and strong, like your daddy?”

“But I already am big and strong.”

“That’s a matter of opinion,” Jean said, already tucking into the bacon. “No one is bigger and stronger and sexier than Jean Michaelis.”

“Quite right,” Rose said, kissing her husband’s forehead.

“But…what about Eleanora?” He gave her a look, clearly indicating, save me!

“The poor, thin darling! But she isn’t feeling well, so she can skip a meal. You, however…”

“Father!”

“Sorry kid,” Jean said and gave him a pitying look. “I can’t save you from this even if I tried.”

“As if he needs saving!” Rose scoffed and gave Sebastian another plate of waffles, intermingled with pancakes, omelets, and what looked to be a steak.

“You go on ahead,” Sebastian gave Eleanora a weak smile. “I’ll find you…eventually.”

Eleanora nodded and escaped the house while she could while Rose gave Sebastian another plate full of food.


	65. Chapter 65

Rose had been right: the gardens were beautiful, like something out of a fairy tale. In fact, everything seemed right out of a fairy tale. Now all Eleanora needed was a Prince Charming to come and get her out of this mess.

She sat down on a swing, overlooking a little stream, and sighed, trying to think. Well, here she was. In Hell. About to get married to a demon. Could things really get any worse?

She shouldn’t think that. Because naturally, with her luck, things really would get worse.

They did.

Eleanora wandered around outside for several hours, missing the remainder of breakfast as well as lunch. She was just thinking about missing dinner (the thought of food still repulsed her) when she noticed Sebastian walking up to her.

“Lady,” he said, “there you are. I’ve been looking everywhere.”

“What is it?” she sighed.

“Mother wants you,” he said. “In fact, everyone does.”

“Really? Why?”

“She said it’s a…‘womanly matter.’”

“Ohhh shit,” she thought but still followed the butler back to the mansion. Eleanora knew that ‘womanly matters’ were never anything good. She wanted to ask Sebastian about said ‘womanly matters,’ but womanly matters were womanly matters for a reason: they involved women, and that was it. Besides which, men always got weird whenever womanly matters came up, regardless of their species.

Sebastian’s family was waiting in the living room, trying to collectively teach the young Master how to play a card game. It wasn’t working out, partly because they were all saying different things to him, and partly because half of them weren’t even speaking English.

“Oh, look; she’s here!” Rose said, looking up, and immediately all of the women in the group charged at her, screaming and hugging. Sebastian wisely stepped aside to allow this, and was immediately grabbed by his father.

“Look who dropped by!” he said, pointing to a couch. “Our old family friend!”

Sebastian sighed.

“Hello, Undertaker,” he said. “How nice to see you again.”

The Undertaker cackled and rubbed his hands together.

“Likewise,” he grinned. “Now, shall we begin?”

“With what?”

“With the Macarena, genius,” Jean said. “While the women are out doing their thing, we’re going to stay here and have your pre-bachelor party!”

“…What does the Macarena have to do with that?”

“What is the Macarena?” Ciel whispered to the Undertaker.

“It’s a song that won’t be around in the human world until one hundred years from now,” he said.

“And it’s horrible,” Sebastian said.

“And it’s the greatest thing since pasta met cheese!” Jean scowled down at him. “Trust me, you’ll agree with me when you see your wife doing it. But that’s not important. Ladies, why are you still here? This is a man-only meeting! Can we have a little space, please?”

“Why, certainly,” Rose giggled and kissed his forehead. But as she and the other chattering women left, escorting Eleanora to another room, Ciel noticed that she was smirking at her husband, who was smirking right back. He turned to ask the Undertaker why, but he was busy.

Busy placing a red mark on a wine bottle.


	66. Chapter 66

The women pulled Eleanora into another room—a huge lady’s boudoir—and sat around her, talking incessantly in their language, examining her hands, stroking her hair, looking at her teeth; a couple even touched her chest. Eleanora had no idea what was going on, but she hoped that it would end soon.

After a few minutes of this, Rose stood up and clapped her hands. All attention was immediately on her. She made a short speech in Avelatani, which Eleanora of course couldn’t understand, but it sobered up the women, because after she had finished, they all mumbled something and crossed themselves. At least, Eleanora thought that they crossed themselves; they kissed their fingers, touched their left and right sides with the kissed hand, and finished it with marking an infinity sign on their stomachs.

Then they took Eleanora and guided her over to another room, this time a huge bathroom with a bathtub the size of an Olympic swimming pool.

“What’s going on?” Eleanora whispered to Rose as the women took her clothes off.

Rose smiled at her.

“This is called the ‘purification ceremony,’” she said. “It starts now and doesn’t end until the wedding.”

“Uh…isn’t that quite a long time?”

“The ceremony,” Rose continued as if she hadn’t heard her, “is a cleansing ritual that erases the past sins of the couple. Hugs, kisses, sexes, all are wiped clean after this ritual is conducted.”

“Wh-What happens during the ritual?”

“First, one is cleaned as thoroughly as possible,” Rose said, gesturing to the bathtub, “which is what we’re going to do now. Then, the woman has to cover herself up around her husband so that he can never actually look at her until the wedding day. Understand?”

“Well, yes, but…why?”

“Because in ancient times,” Rose said, testing the bathtub water, “it was believed that a woman can withstand any form of mental torture, but physical torture was another matter entirely.”

“Yes, and what greater form of torture than not being able to show yourself off to your man?” one of Sebastian’s aunts said, causing the English-knowing women to giggle.

“On the flip side,” Rose said, smiling, “it was thought that a man can stand any form of physical torture, but not mental. Once these two people have gone through these challenges, it was thought that their suffering cleansed their past sexual sins, preparing them for marriage.”

“It’s an ancient tradition, and one that all of us have gone through,” another aunt said. The first aunt translated and the other ladies nodded.

Eleanora got into the bathtub, shivering a bit at coming into contact with the warm water.

“But while I’m doing all of this, what’s Sebastian doing?”

This was translated and the women grinned.

“Don’t you worry,” Rose said, dunking Eleanora’s head into the water, “he’s suffering for you as well.”


	67. Chapter 67

Bachelor parties—or pre-bachelor parties, as the case was—were overrated. No one was really doing much of anything. Nothing scandalous was going on, except for perhaps drinking and gambling, which is what they all did on a regular basis anyway. Sebastian didn’t see why they had to send the women away. He wondered what they were doing and whether Eleanora was alright.

The Undertaker poured him another glass of wine.

The topics discussed weren’t at all secretive. They talked about business and they talked about life and they talked about what they were going to do to Jean Michaelis if they learned that he was cheating. Nothing unusual.

The Undertaker poured him another glass of wine.

The young Master was looking bored, and Sebastian couldn’t blame him. He was bored as well, and he could understand what they were talking about. He could hardly imagine what it was like to listen to a bunch of men talk without knowing the language.

The Undertaker poured him another glass of wine. Then he shook the bottle and raised it triumphantly over his head.

“It’s done!” he shouted. “He finished it!”

Then all of the men stood up with cheers and shouts and began slapping Sebastian on the back for some reason, making him almost choke on his last swallow of wine.

“What is it?” he said. “What’s going on?”

Jean stood in front of him, smirking.

“Congratulations, me boy,” he said. “The wedding is now officially on!”

More cheers and calls for more wine. Someone even offered Ciel a glass, which he declined. He had seen the effects on Eleanora and didn’t want that to happen to him.

Sebastian blinked.

“What do you mean, ‘the wedding is officially on?’ It’s been officially on for months now!”

“Ah, but now there’s no turning back!” Jean grinned down at his son. “Your purification ritual has just started!”

“MY WHAT?!”

“Happy purification ceremony!” Jean shouted and the men started throwing confetti.

Sebastian scoffed.

“That’s ridiculous. The purification ceremony was dropped centuries ago. It’s old hat, now.”

“That’s precisely what we wanted you to think,” Jean grinned. “Think of it: if you had known that it would happen, would you have agreed to spend an evening with us?”

Sebastian turned pale.

“…It’s not true,” he said uncertainly. “It didn’t happen.”

“Shall we give it an ol’ test try?” Jean said and began pacing the room. “Your wife’s name?”

Sebastian scoffed again and smirked.

“Eleanora Michaelis.”

“Maiden name?”

“Black.”

“Occupation?”

“Maid to the Earl of Phantomhive.”

“Eye color?”

Sebastian, still smirking, opened up his mouth to answer, then paused. He actually had to think about it for a moment before replying.

“G-Green?”

“EGH! Wrong!” Jean said, giggling sadistically.

“‘Wr-wrong?’” Sebastian looked stricken. “Then…is it…brown?”

“Wrong! Hair color?”

This time he looked determined.

“…Blonde.”

Nobody answered him; he started to look concerned.

“Then…brown?”

Jean started giggling again.

“Red? Silver? The young Master’s strange weirdness?”

“Hey!” Ciel said, but Jean just laughed and slapped Sebastian’s shoulder, who pressed his hands against his head.

“What’s wrong? Why can’t I remember her?”

“This is the purification ceremony, cupcake!” Jean said. “We all had to go through with it, didn’t we, gents?”

This was translated to the ones who didn’t know English, and everybody nodded.

“Until your wedding day, you’re not allowed to look at her, talk to her, touch her, or anything,” Jean said. “Now, who’s up for a bath?”

“But this is ridiculous! I can’t even remember her voice!”

“Poor sweetie baby cakes,” Jean said, “but I probably would have more sympathy if I hadn’t had to do it myself. Welcome to manhood! Did anyone bring the bubble bath?”

One of Sebastian’s uncles explained what was going on to Ciel as the men bathed Sebastian. He had never seen such a thorough cleaning—they even washed each individual eyelash. Ciel was glad that he was a human. Being an unholy looked really complicated. Too many rules and all.


	68. Chapter 68

The men left the bathroom several hours later, each one of them smelling strongly of bubbles and bath salts. They had been very thorough and dignified when cleaning Sebastian, but after that, they decided that it would be a waste to just drain the huge bathtub and had a water fight. There were water pistols involved and everything. Ciel was still soaking wet and he hadn’t even entered the tub.

Dinner was ready and they all sat down. The women were already there. Ciel wondered where Eleanora was and who the big black blob of clothes on the far side of the table was. Then he realized that they were one and the same.

Everything was covered. Ciel couldn’t find a single area of Eleanora’s skin, or even any trace that she ever had any to begin with. Black gloves, long trousers and long-sleeved tops, layers upon layers of skirts and shirts, several layers of cloth on her face so that even her mouth wasn’t visible as she ate. Her stomach had settled by this time, so she thought that it would be alright to eat a little something.

Rose had been right when she talked about “physical torture.” She was sweltering. Maybe it would have been fine with just the usual five or so layers, but, in total, she was walking around in forty-six. Apparently the unholy didn’t do anything by halves.

Rose had very kindly opened every window and turned on some strange, electrical appliance that she called “air conditioning” (as if air needed to be conditioned), which significantly cooled everything down, but that didn’t change the fact that she was roasting. She felt as if she was being boiled alive in her own sweat.

Plus the butler wouldn’t stop looking at her. Rose had said that the men had given him a certain type of wine which made him forget almost everything about her. Apparently he still remembered her, and all the arguments they had and the fights they got into, but he didn’t remember her face or her voice or any specific details. This was his cleansing ritual, and Rose made it very clear to her that she wasn’t allowed to speak when Sebastian was in the room, and it was probably better if she just ignored him completely.

“Tantalize him, honey,” Rose said, winking. “There’s nothing that gets men more sexually frustrated than being ignored.”

“But why would I want him to be sexually frustrated?”

“For the honeymoon, darling! Trust me, a man who hasn’t had any affection in three months is bound to make the nights as hellish as possible!”

Eleanora was staring to understand unholy slang; “hellish” meant the same as “heavenly” did to humans.

She didn’t want to “tantalize” him. She could already ignore him as good as the rest of them; she didn’t want to have anything to do with him at night. But wait! Maybe…he was already filled with demonic lust? After all, hadn’t she mostly-ignored him for a year? Maybe he was already anxiously waiting for the honeymoon!

Eleanora bent her head and picked at her food. She dreaded to know what he was thinking about at this very moment.

“No, but what is the color of her hair?” Sebastian thought, frowning at her. “And what did her voice sound like? I remember she had a good singing voice, but I can’t remember what it sounded like at all…”

Sebastian sighed and picked at his food. It was going to be a long three months.


	69. Chapter 69

It might have taken six months to plan a wedding, but as they had procrastinated, the wedding plans had to be conducted far more quickly. Sebastian didn’t help matters, as he said that he and Eleanora would be more than satisfied with just quickly signing the traditional two contracts. He stopped saying this after Jean told him that, if he wasn’t going to have a traditional wedding, he also wasn’t going to get a traditional honeymoon.

Ciel was surprised at all the effort that had to be done in order to have a wedding. Even the men worked nonstop—Ciel had always thought that planning a wedding was a woman’s job, but all the men in the family did as much work as the women did.

“Of course we have to work,” Sebastian said, surprised when the young Master asked him. “If we didn’t help with the wedding, we wouldn’t be invited.”

If Ciel had been in another place at another time, he might have argued this logic, but as he was still in Hell, he didn’t dare to. He didn’t even dare complain, which, had they been at home, he would have done vast amounts of.

For one thing, everyone was responsible for their own meals. Dinner was eaten as a family, but for breakfast and lunch and snacks, that was on each individual person. Eleanora had had some trouble with this; it was difficult for her to just go down into the kitchen and make herself something without permission, but for Ciel, it was absolute torture. He didn’t know how to cook, and he was also expected to wash his own dishes after himself, which he most certainly was not going to do. Mostly he survived on tinned biscuits, and crammed himself full of food at dinner. Once or twice he asked Sebastian to make him something; both times his butler was pulled away for more wedding preparations.

Ciel had no idea that there was so much that needed to be planned. The men once spent three hours deciding on the type of glove that Sebastian should wear, and then, after lunch, rethought their decision and spent another three hours on gloves before they decided that their first choice was really the best one. They spent a whole day on fooling around with Sebastian’s hair, trying to decide how to part it.

“What if we brushed it back?” Jean said, pulling Sebastian’s hair away from his forehead.

“Ugh, no; I’ve always hated that look,” Sebastian said.

“What if we keep some of his bangs behind his ears?” an uncle suggested. They tried that; it looked too asymmetrical, and when they tried it with both ears, it called too much attention to the hearing appendages.

“What if we gave him a little ponytail?” someone else said. They tried it, and Jean quickly shot it down.

“It looks too weak,” he said in disgust, staring at the tiny thing. “If a man wears a ponytail, it should be long and flowing—strong, like a man.” He shook his head, sending his own ponytail flying around, to demonstrate.

“Why would a man even want a ponytail?” Sebastian sighed. He was getting rather sick of all the criticisms of his hair.

“Isn’t it obvious? So that when he’s alone and bored he can play with it, give it braids and pigtails and all that.”

“My Lord, could you kindly go and ask Eleanora what hair she likes on me? Because, you know, she actually remembers what I look like?” He glared at his father; he never got over being tricked like that.

Ciel accordingly went and asked and returned in about five minutes.

“She says that you should wear a sack on your head and a rope around your neck.”

Laughter all around, and after the preliminary congratulations that Sebastian found himself a real keeper (the sassy, independent ones were always the best, after all) they stopped and actually considered the suggestion.

“…You know, it might actually work,” Jean suddenly said. “I mean, we would have to poke holes in the bag so that he could see and all, and then, maybe…”

“Ooh! Rose has some floral print bags! They would look so festive!”

Now everyone was getting excited.

“Go and see if they have black flowers on them,” Jean said. “You’d look so cute!”

“I am not wearing a sack over my head on my wedding day,” Sebastian growled.

“Why the heaven not? It would solve so many problems! And if it was long enough, you could have your own mini-veil! Man, we should have asked your wife a long time ago!”

This idea was very quickly shot down by Rose, and that was the end of it.

Occasionally they would go into town to try on suits and sample wine and wedding cake (the last part was Ciel’s favorite), but sometimes the men would find Ciel irritating for some reason and would tell him to go help the women.

The women also talked a lot and did a lot of things which Ciel found ridiculous. They once spent three days trying to teach Eleanora how to walk properly—as if she needed lessons. She had been walking her whole life, but apparently there was a certain way to walk down the aisle. Ciel wondered what she would do with this information after the wedding was over.

“All this planning stuff makes me never want to get married,” he once grumbled to his maid.

Eleanora paused in what she was doing to consider this.

“Oh, I don’t think that marriage itself is all that bad, as long as you get married to the right person,” she said. “It’s just the wedding that’s hell…Pun not intended, if there’s a pun in there.”

“Then I’m never having a wedding,” he said decidedly.

“My Lord, if you never have a wedding, you’re never going to get married,” Sebastian said once he heard this. “No woman can get married without a wedding.”

“I don’t see why not.”

“…It’s like having a cake without the icing. It’ll still taste good, but it won’t quite be the same.”

And suddenly Ciel understood.

The weeks passed, and several days before the actual wedding date, the men unceremoniously kicked Ciel out again.

“But why?” he said.

“We have things to discuss,” Jean said seriously. “Big, manly things.”

“I am a man!”

“Not until you’re twenty,” Jean said and shut the door.

Ciel stood around for a bit, just to see if they would change their minds, and when they didn’t, he went over to the wing where the women were.

They were all crowded around Eleanora, excitedly doing her makeup and her hair. They were arguing about what hairstyle she should have and how she should make her eyes really stand out from her face (even though she would be wearing a veil throughout the whole ceremony, but…logic).

“My Lord!” Rose said, upon realizing he was there. “You’re just in time. You’re about to witness the single-most important event in wedding planning—choosing the wedding dress!”

Ciel didn’t say anything, as even he knew that the wedding dress was important, although he wondered why Rose said that it was the single-most important event, as according to every single person, every thing was the single-most important event, from the guest list to the napkins to the man-perfume the groomsmen would wear.

In all honesty, Ciel actually didn’t particularly want to witness the wedding dress tryouts, as man clothes bored him to tears, let alone female outfits. But nevertheless, he obediently followed the women into the other room, wondering what top-secret man-business the males were discussing. It was probably something really important and dirty if he wasn’t allowed to be there.

“Now if she starts crying, apologize immediately,” Jean said seriously. “Even if you’re in the most awkward situation imaginable, you apologize. If she gets angry with you, you’re wrong. Remember, this is the woman’s area of expertise, and by wrongly assuming that you’re in the right, you’re going to get heaven later. She will never let you forget it, and she will always say that you humiliated her.”

“Is all this really necessary?” Sebastian sighed.

“Trust me, this will save your life more times than you can count,” Jean said. “Now, after you’re done picking out your first couch, she’s going to want to move on to the chairs…”

Ciel had naturally assumed that wedding dresses were in one piece. After all, wasn’t that how most dresses worked? Apparently not in Hell, as the huge ballroom was filled with half-naked mannequins, each one wearing either a shirt top or a skirt bottom, never both at the same time. That was odd in and of itself, but what really made it strange was that everything was black. Not a scrap of white in the room.

Eleanora looked around, confused.

“I’m sorry,” she finally said, “but how is this going to work?”

“Oh, it’s very simple, dear,” Rose said. “You pick out a top that you like, and then a skirt that you like, and we’ll see the effect! And if you like the top but not the skirt, we change the skirt but not the top, and so on and so forth. It’s so much more efficient than just being a whole dress. Besides, after the general shape has been decided on, you can add decorations and accessories and all that as you see fit!”

It took forever. Ciel even fell asleep halfway through it; that was how boring it was. They woke him up to get his opinions on the final result, and even though the dress was black and lacked decoration and Eleanora looked like a stressed-out corpse, he had to admit that it was fantastic.

The top was a sleeveless, low-cut thing in the shape of a heart which flattered her bust and her figure—things Ciel didn’t even know she had. The dress was long and princess-like, with a flowing train behind it. Eleanora seemed to glide as she moved around in it; the fabric didn’t even rustle as she walked in that special way.

“Well? What do you think?”

Ciel nodded.

“It’s very nice,” he said and shared a look with Eleanora. He didn’t say anything more, but he knew that she could tell that he meant it.

Everyone cheered and applauded and shook hands. Everyone told Eleanora at least ten times that she was an absolute succubus. She smiled and nodded and shook hands and laughed with the rest of them, but at night, Ciel found her alone in her room, crying.

“Uh…Lady?” he said, alarmed. He had never seen Eleanora cry before. In fact, he had never actually thought that she could cry.

“It’s nothing, my Lord,” she whispered, wiping away her tears. “It’s just that…I guess that I always thought that…If I ever had to get married…I would do it in a white wedding dress.”


	70. Chapter 70

The date of the wedding—December 13th—continued to approach and didn’t stop until it would actually occur tomorrow. Everyone went to bed early—Eleanora couldn’t sleep. She stayed awake and sat by the window, thinking.

Tomorrow she would be married. Permanently. No chance of divorce, no chance of living a life outside of Sebastian, no chance of ever finding someone who would truly love her. She couldn’t even imagine that—spending the rest of her life married to a demon incapable of emotion.

Maybe there was still a chance. Maybe she could still somehow get out of it. But how?

She could run away. She could run and keep on running and never look back. Sebastian would find another wife. His family would find another girl to gush over. The Earl of Phantomhive would find another maid. There would always be another.

She knew that running away was cowardly. She had always hated people who tried running away from their problems. But she couldn’t find another solution. She couldn’t talk to anybody; they would all just say that it would get better and that eventually she would learn to love him, and if she didn’t seem convinced, they would send her down the aisle with a gun jammed into her back—just like the first time that she was married.

No other solution. No other solution. It was like she wasn’t even in her body anymore; someone else was moving; she could even almost see her body moving on its own accord, as if she was seeing herself through someone else’s eyes. Now she was standing up…Now she was getting dressed…Now she was walking towards the door…Now she was in the hallway. No other solution. No other solution.

Now she was walking down the hallways…Now she was passing a room…Now the floorboard squeaked and someone inside the room said sharply,

“Who’s there?”

Shit, the butler. She immediately stepped back and hid in a shadowy wall. He didn’t seem to come and investigate; she just heard him sigh. And then she heard Rose say,

“Can’t sleep?”

“Hm? No. I’m just…thinking.”

“About tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Are you dreading it or anticipating it?”

Her voice was soft, gentle. Eleanora almost couldn’t tell that it belonged to a demon. Almost. All demons were professional liars; the whole Hell was built up on professional liars; she hated everyone that had come from it.

Sebastian hesitated a bit before answering.

“…I’m actually not sure,” he said. “I mean, I thought that marriage was between two people who madly loved one another…like you and Father. But I and Eleanora…She hates me. I remember clearly how much she hates me.”

“But do you hate her?”

He hesitated again.

“…I’m not sure,” he repeated, “but I think—I think—that I am not entirely adverse to her.”

Eleanora felt as if she was going to die. If there was one thing worse than hearing that somebody hated you, it was hearing that they loved you. Or didn’t precisely hate you. It was hard to tell with demons.

“It’ll get better, sweetheart,” Rose murmured, just like Eleanora predicted that she would. “You’ll learn to like her.”

“And what if I don’t?”

“You’ve been married for a year; most unholies would have murdered their human spouses by now. That proves that you’re destined to be together…Or you could talk to your father about it. I’m sure he’d talk about psychology and unholy brains and all that.”

Sebastian sighed.

“Nervous?”

“…A bit.”

“That’s understandable. I was so nervous at my own wedding, I thought that I was going to drop dead!” Rose laughed. “I even considered running away before the thing actually happened. Just nerves, happens to everyone. But just wait and see: it’ll be the best day of your life.”

“I thought that one says that to the bride?”

“Everybody does, but it’s not really true. The bride is usually too stressed out to fully enjoy her own wedding day. The best days of a woman’s life come afterwards, but I think that a man should try to enjoy his wedding to the fullest. You only really get one, you know—especially as you’re an unholy.”

“…But I don’t think that I’m ready for it.” He sighed. “How can I know if I’m going to be a good husband or not?”

“You’ve just proven it to yourself,” Rose said. “A good man will be uncertain about whether he can make a girl feel like the queen that she is…A bad one will already think that he’s done his job.”

Eleanora heard Rose kiss her son.

“Get some sleep,” she said. “You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

“Mm,” Sebastian said and then Eleanora heard Rose leave.

She couldn’t resist; she peeked behind the corner to look at Sebastian. He was standing by the window, staring up at the stars, just like she had been doing. The only difference between them was that he was smiling.

Not his weird, too-perfect smile; not his arrogant little smirk, but a real, genuine smile, as if he was anxiously waiting for tomorrow but realizing that this moment was just perfect as well.

Eleanora suddenly felt so, so tired. She realized somewhere in the back of her mind that, even if she did somehow make it off the property, there were several miles of absolute nothingness before a real town. She would get caught and then the whole wedding—all that planning—would be destroyed because everyone would know that the bride had tried to escape it.

She didn’t want to think anymore; she just wanted to sleep. She turned and went back upstairs and flopped down on the bed, not even bothering to change out of her clothes. This was it. Her last night of true freedom. She wanted to cry, but didn’t have any more tears left.

“So this is the end,” she thought and then she fell asleep.


	71. Chapter 71

Eleanora was woken up early and taken downstairs to get dressed for the big day. All of the men had gone to the church early; the house was eerily silent.

Breakfast was just several slices of toast; no one had much of an appetite anyway. They only ate to avoid passing out during the ceremony.

Eleanora was bathed just as thoroughly as she had been on her second night in Hell. She was dressed in the specially-prepared underclothing; her hair and makeup was done, and then they brought out the corset and the crinoline.

Eleanora knew that it was coming; Rose had specifically prepared her for it, but she had thought that it would be just a particularly fancy corset and a crinoline that was slightly more elegant than usual. She was wrong.

It was made entirely out of black metal and looked like an uglier, misshapen form of the wedding dress. It was so huge that Eleanora actually had to be lifted up and then placed into it, where Rose and the other women began screwing her into it.

The whole process didn’t take very long, and afterwards, the metal thing looked precisely like the wedding dress, same shape and form and everything, but it was heavy. Eleanora wondered how she would be able to manage walking in it, especially in high-heels.

“How am I supposed to move?” she asked Rose as the other women got the wedding dress.

“Oh, it’s not as bad as it seems to be,” Rose assured her. “Besides, you’ll thank us later. The ceremony takes several hours to conduct and it’s all standing. If you just bend your knees a little bit, the crinoline will rest on the floor and will be able to support your weight.”

There was something in her eyes that made Eleanora nervous. Perhaps she knew. Perhaps she knew that she had tried to run away last night. Perhaps the metal was a preemptive measure.

But it didn’t matter, because then the dress was pulled on over her.

Say what one will about the metal underskirt, it made the dress look even more fantastic. Plus, decorations had been added: roses and beads and Eleanora had been given various accessories: gloves and expensive jewelry and the like. The effect was so wonderful, it almost didn’t seem to matter that the dress was in the traditional unholy black.

She was finally ready; she was left alone for several hours while the women prepared themselves. Eleanora tried to think of a way to escape and couldn’t. She still felt absolutely exhausted; it was as if her brain had been wiped clean. All she could realize was dread.

Eventually, they were all ready and they went to the church: a massive, threatening, Gothic building with demons sneering down at Eleanora and monsters with twisted faces having intimacy with leering succubi. It wasn’t the most welcoming environment.

She was taken to a dark room where she would wait to be called out. Half-an-hour later, there was a knock on the door. It was the Undertaker.

“Hope you don’t mind,” he whispered, “but as you don’t have any relations that we know of, I’ll be giving you away.”

“I don’t care,” she said in a cold, dead voice. Nothing mattered anymore. She didn’t feel anything.

Some strange variation on “Here Comes the Bride” started playing and the Undertaker slung his arm through Eleanora’s.

“This is your day, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Enjoy it to the utmost.”

Then the door opened into blinding white light and Eleanora took her first step down the aisle.


	72. Part Two:

Eleanora still vaguely remembered planning the thing. She remembered talking to the young Master about it:

“I don’t think that marriage itself is all that bad, as long as you get married to the right person. It’s just the wedding that’s hell…”

She had never spoken truer words in her life.

She knew that she was getting married to a demon, in Hell, in a Satanic church, but despite all of these many dangers, it was so. Unnaturally. Boring.

Rose had said that it would be long. She had been forewarned. But in all seriousness, this speech was taking an eternity. No wonder demons lived so long—half of their lives were wasted in actually getting married!

There were two parts to the matri verum: the legal part and the religious part. The legal part consisted of swearing to each other to divide everything equally—cats, dogs, debts—and to always remain calm in financial pressure. Boring shit like that. And, naturally, because this was an unholy ritual, everything was sung.

Eleanora scratched her ankle with her other foot. She had been standing here for half-an-hour and the priest wasn’t showing any signs of stopping and she was roasting in her stupid black dress and her feet hurt from all the standing and she was still touching the demon.

Sebastian Michaelis was handsome and gentlemanly—in a strange, I’ll-smile-kindly-when-killing-you kind of way. She hadn’t seen his reaction when she had walked down the aisle and he had seen her in her wedding dress for the first, but she assumed that he had looked bored and uninterested—just like always. Wasn’t that so typical of a man? A woman slaves her ass off, trying to look decent for an event that would only last a day, and he didn’t even care.

Eleanora shuffled around in her dress and fought back a small groan. The dress itself was heavy enough on its own, but she was also wearing a crinoline and a corset—both made entirely out of black metal. She shuffled again and one of her shoes slipped off and she had to clutch the demon’s arm for support.

She had gone down the aisle with the Undertaker—as she had no father to give her away—and then he had handed her over to the demon, and they were still standing together with their arms linked together. She hated touching him. Even the mere thought of touching him was practically unbearable. She wished that there was some kind of tactful way to get rid of him. Her arm felt itchy from being in contact with him for so long.

But everything felt itchy! Wedding dresses were not designed for the comfort of the bride. She wanted to scream at the priest to hurry the hell up; she wanted to go home already!

Perhaps the demon felt her discomfort. Or maybe he was just adjusting his arm. Either way, he gave her arm a small squeeze.

She looked up at him; he risked looking down at her and smiling—not one of his usual, half-demonic leers, but a real, genuine smile. Eleanora wondered what he was smiling at. Probably finding amusement at how dumb she looked. She scowled at him, even though she knew that he couldn’t see her face through the veil.

She turned back to look at the priest and wondered what the demon was thinking about. Was he excited? Nervous? Bored? Or was he wondering what she looked like? There was an unholy ritual which involved the erasing of the groom’s memories of his wife-to-be. He still remembered her—her name, their conversations, their unusual first marriage…But he couldn’t remember details: her hair color, what her voice sounded like…Rose had said that it was to increase his sexual frustration in preparation for the honeymoon. Eleanora wondered if she could sneak a switchblade into the bedroom. For self-defense. She could marry a demon, but she’d be damned if she had sex with one.

…Pun not intended.

The priest droned on for another half-hour. And then he pulled out a contract, two knives, two pens, and two inkpots and set them in front of Sebastian and Eleanora.

She knew what to do. Rose had prepared her for this.

She held out her hand and Sebastian removed her glove. Then he held out his hand and she removed his glove. Both gloves were put into a bin filled with unholy medicine. Then they took the knives; she steadied herself; and then they slashed their palms open.

Eleanora’s red blood dripped into her inkpot; Sebastian’s blood was black. Then they dipped the pens in their blood and signed the contract.

The priest sang for several more minutes and then he closed his book, bowed to the congregation, murmured something in Avelatani, and left.

The wedding guests applauded. Sebastian put Eleanora’s glove on and she put his glove on. Immediately the medicine started to work; she could actually feel her hand start to heal. Within five minutes, it was as if she had never been hurt.

The head nun then approached—the Satanic Mother—carrying a book. She set the book down, bowed, opened the book, and then began singing. Eleanora steeled herself for another hour of boredom. Her head hurt.

This was the “religion” part of the ceremony. Eleanora had actually read the translation for this speech. It was just a bunch of lovey-dovey crap, like “sharing joy and sorrow,” “in sickness and in health,” and a prayer for “eternal sexual energy.”

Eleanora really wished that she had just made that up. But no—a third of the translation talked about bedroom intimacy. She had felt so dirty after reading it that she had bathed for five hours.

She was glad that she didn’t understand the language of Hell. She probably couldn’t have stood listening to a nun talk about intimacy for an hour, with so many people watching her.

Half an hour passed again. Then the Mother stepped back, Sebastian gave her arm another squeeze, and then they moved past the altar and down in front of the statues.

There were three huge statues in the church, with seven smaller statues in front of them. The three big ones were of the three major sints; the smaller ones were of the seven sints. Rose had prepared Eleanora for this one as well. They were going to stand underneath the statues while the Mother asked for their blessing. If there was some sort of sign from the statues, the marriage would be considered cursed and not allowed to take place.

Eleanora had stopped believing in miracles a very long time ago. But she thought that, if such things still existed, she could really use one right now.

“Please say that we can’t get married,” she prayed as they knelt in front of the statues. “Please say that we can’t get married…”

Nothing happened. She almost swore out loud.

Then there came the simulated “test.” Rose had told her about this one too: first, there would be intense winds, and then the church would fill up with water, and then sand, and during all of this, they had to hold on to each other. If they let go, it meant that the marriage would lead to nothing.

The floor before the statues began to cave in. Eleanora instinctively squeezed Sebastian’s arm; he patted it and smiled at her again. When the floor had sunk several inches, the wind started.

Eleanora had never felt so grateful for the metal crinoline. Without it, she most certainly would have blown away. She felt her veil whip around and wondered if her hair would get messy. She had been forced to sit there for hours while it was getting ready. She did not want to go through with that again.

Eventually the wind died down and they were still holding each other’s arms.

Then the floor began filling up with water…

It would have been fine if it had just been still water, but it was like standing in a whirlpool. Added to that, it was freezing cold. Eleanora couldn’t feel her toes, and soon she couldn’t feel her feet.

She clutched Sebastian, desperate not to get swept away. He stood firm and held her too.

Eventually the water drained away and they were still together.

Then came the sand.

First there was a blast of heat, which was so intense that it dried Eleanora out in minutes. Then the sand came like a tornado, and Eleanora was just wishing that she was dead when it suddenly died down and then there was a big downpour of black unholy water.

And when that finally died away, they were still holding onto each other.

The audience cheered; Eleanora thought that she heard Jean whistle, and Sebastian was smiling and then the floor rose up again and they went back to the altar, where the Mother was beaming.

She sang a couple more prayers, touched them with the Satanic cross, and then brought out another contract and the knives and things. The gloves were removed again, and then the nun brought out two shot glasses.

“Oh no,” Eleanora thought. “Oh, no no no no…”

The Mother gave each of them a shot glass and a knife. Sebastian slashed his palm open, poured some of his blood into the glass, and then the rest went into the inkpot. He swirled his black blood around in the glass, then spat into it.

Eleanora wanted to vomit.

But the demon wasn’t finished. He somehow managed to force a tear out of his eye and that also went into the glass. Then he snapped his gloveless hand and something oozing and candy-red spilled out from one of his fingertips, and that also went into the glass.

He swirled it around some more and then looked at Eleanora expectantly.

“Oh shit,” she thought, “I’m never going to live this down.”

She cut her palm and poured her blood into the glass. She spat in it. She was even able to produce a tear. Then, because she was unable to produce whatever-the-hell the demon could, she spat again into the glass.

Then they linked their elbows and drank from each other’s shot glasses.

Eleanora was dying. It tasted absolutely foul. But soon both glasses were drained and put back down on the altar and then the second contract was signed in blood, the gloves were put back on, the Mother made some closing statements, and then she said something and the audience behind them gasped expectantly.

The Mother must have known beforehand that Eleanora didn’t speak Avelatani, because she grinned and whispered in English,

“You may kiss the bride.”

They turned to face each other. A small part of Eleanora’s brain was telling her to run…maybe there was still a chance…Maybe she could still get out of it…

But she couldn’t run wearing the metal crinoline, and now he was lifting up her first veil, revealing her lips.

He paused upon seeing them; she remembered that he had forgotten what they looked like. Then he leaned in.

Eleanora closed her eyes.

“Whoever is listening to me now,” she prayed, “please save me now. Please don’t let me get married to this…thing. Please. I’ll do anything. Please save me. Anyone. Please.”

And then they kissed.


	73. Chapter 73

Ciel, Earl of Phantomhive, watched his butler and his maid stride down the aisle, heading for the carriage that would take them back to the Michaelis mansion. He, the Undertaker, and Sebastian’s family would also take a carriage, but they would go faster than the wedded couple. Ciel wondered if Eleanora was going to be alright. He knew how much she hated Sebastian. And then he wondered if Sebastian would be alright. Eleanora could be a bit…unladylike. And that was putting it mildly.

Then he started wondering if they could possibly have a happy marriage. Sebastian had looked so shocked when Eleanora had first entered the church. Shocked and tremendously pleased. He couldn’t stop sneaking glances at her during the ceremony. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a disaster.

He scoffed and followed the Undertaker out of the church. That wouldn’t happen in a million years. Firstly, Sebastian was demon—completely incapable of love. Secondly, Eleanora was unnaturally stubborn. If she didn’t want to fall in love with someone, she would staunchly refuse to let herself. Even if she somehow did subconsciously manage to fall in love, she would never admit it to herself. Ciel didn’t know who he pitied more.

Of course, the Michaelis family wasn’t concerned. They were cheering and shaking hands and applauding, even though the couple had disappeared by this point. Ciel didn’t understand what they were saying—they were all speaking in Avelatani, the language of Hell—but he understood enough of their body languages and smiles to realize that they were incredibly happy by the marriage. Sebastian had told him that such an occurrence like this one—all this mutual joy—was extremely rare. Vampires and demons were practically complete opposites, and the Michaelis family and the Elengede family were at war with each other more-often-than-not. But it didn’t matter right now. At this moment, all feuds were set aside, all differences ignored; now was the time for celebration.

They all got into two carriages and departed for the mansion, deep in the country. It didn’t take them very long to get there—that, or maybe the trip just seemed short. As soon as they arrived, everyone piled into the kitchen to make as much food as possible. Jean Michaelis—Sebastian’s esteemed vampiric father—went down to the cellar with his brother and the Undertaker and all three of them returned carrying several kegs of wine. Then everyone quickly changed into more comfortable outfits, got out party supplies, and anxiously waited for Sebastian and Eleanora to return.

They arrived shortly after everything was ready. Sebastian assisted Eleanora down from the carriage and when they entered the mansion, everyone cheered and screamed and applauded and unholy champagne bottles were shaken and uncorked and everyone got soaking wet. Sebastian was kissed and hugged several hundred times, while Eleanora was just hugged (her veil would have gotten in the way of the kisses; she still hadn’t taken it off). Then they were plopped down onto two thrones on a raised platform, everyone gave a speech, wine was poured out, toasts were made, then everyone started dancing.

Sebastian danced most of the dances—both demonic and vampiric—but Eleanora only danced a few. Ciel only danced twice.

Somewhere halfway through, they had dinner, then they went straight back to celebrating. The sun was already rising when it was decided that people really should be going to sleep.

A special room had been prepared for Sebastian and Eleanora. Ciel wasn’t sure why they got their own room, and nobody would tell him. Sebastian had mentioned something about “intimacy,” but Ciel had just thought that meant something ridiculous, like talking about feelings, which of course Sebastian didn’t have. So Ciel really had no idea what they were going to be doing in that special, private room.

But he was too tired to care. He had eaten too much and had stayed up too late. He somehow managed to fumble his way out of his clothes (there was no Sebastian to undress him) and then he fell into bed. The rising sun didn’t even bother him—he was asleep instantaneously.


	74. Chapter 74

Sebastian lay on the bed, rubbing his temples. His head really hurt from all of the music and talking and wine. He knew that he was expected to do certain things with Eleanora on this night, but he wasn’t feeling up to it at the moment. And he knew that she would do many things to avoid sleeping with him at any given moment.

It was odd to forget one’s wife. Remembering her was kind of like reading dialogue from a book: no form, no face; just blank, expressionless words. He wondered (for the seventy hundredth time) what she looked like. Was she pretty? He remembered that she didn’t think that she was pretty. But one couldn’t trust women on the subject of beauty; the prettiest ones were convinced that they were hideous and the ugly ones thought that they rivaled Helen of Troy. Then again, Sebastian thought that all women were ugly, save for his mother and his aunts.

He remembered when he was younger. His mother occasionally talked to him about marriage. He smiled when he remembered what he used to say:

“I’m not going to marry anyone who’s not as pretty as you, Mommy!”

And his mother would laugh and say back,

“One day, my darling, you’re going to find someone who you’re going to think is the most beautiful person in the four worlds. And it won’t matter if they’re not as pretty as me—not to your eyes anyway.”

Sebastian remembered doubting that. His mother had been a professional beauty queen. She still competed every now and then. He remembered that he always thought that he would also marry some kind of beauty queen. Some shy, quiet demon girl from a rich, noble family—someone nondescript and pleasantly boring who loved him undyingly and unconditionally while he would cheerfully ignore her and go about his business.

Sebastian had always thought that he would never fall in love, really. When he was younger, he would read fairy tales and sigh over the happy endings. But as he grew older, he realized just how few true princesses that was out there.

All of the beautiful, rich, young noble ladies—no matter which species they were—did everything they could to please him. They giggled, they batted their eyelashes, they agreed with everything he said…They were all unbearably dull. He couldn’t stand being in their company for more than an hour. They were all the same. They said the same things, they behaved the same way; even their faces mirrored each other. Always following the same fashion trends, always reading the same cheap romance novels, always assuming that they were somehow unique in their conformity.

They were not princess, but they all thought that Sebastian was their Prince Charming.

They all thought that he would fall in love with them and sweep them off their feet. Write poetry. Play lovelorn ballads on the guitar. Visit them in the middle of the night by climbing into their windows using ivy. Absolutely none of that happened, and then it was somehow his fault. Several nobles had complained to his parents because he had apparently “broken their daughter’s fragile heart.” How had he broken it?...By not loving her.

He was somehow expected to fall in love with every pretty face but remain loyal to each one. He had to spend his hours pining over them, wasting away, while still being that cool, confident businessman. He had to be gentle, but only to the “woman of his dreams;” he had to treat everyone else like less than nothing. It was absolutely ridiculous and absolutely unrealistic.

Human women were exactly the same as the unholy ones. It was so odd how humans could change, but the women—no matter where they came from—were always the same. Every now and then he would meet a woman who seemed different from the others: one who didn’t immediately adore his looks and then expect a character to match. Every now and then he would meet a woman who seemed genuinely interested in his personality and realized that just because he had the face of a Prince Charming didn’t mean that he had the attitude of one. They were refreshing at first, but they were always so few and far-between. And then they would just become like all the other women he had met.

The first sign was jealousy. Women who got familiar with him almost always turned jealous at some point. They wanted to know where he was, who he had been with, and they didn’t accept his answers.

“I had to stay late to clean up after a dinner party.”

“Liar! You were flirting with that maid.”

One would think that, if a woman knew him, she would also know that he had absolutely no interest in flirting with anyone, pretty or ugly, maid or master.

Then they became clingy. They always wanted to go everywhere with him; do everything with him. They claimed that it was because they wanted to spend more time with him, but he knew that they just wanted to spy on him. See what he was up to. If a woman he vaguely knew greeted him, the woman that he was with would immediately sling her arm through his and glare at the other woman and loudly announce at any point some outrageous lie:

“I’m his woman.”

“I’m his girl.”

“I’m his fiancée.”

And when he would call her out on it—later, of course—she would immediately burst into tears and wail about how he didn’t love her anymore, to which he always replied that he had never loved her to begin with. Then the usual mess would start up: screaming, crying, wailing, demanding…

Sebastian had learned to avoid the sex as a whole. Always keep them at a distance. Never get too intimate with one. He was tired of always having to play the Prince Charming for a frog. He had figured that he would never get married, never fall in love. That prospect had always been appealing to him.

And then he had met Eleanora.

Eleanora Black—the bitter, distrustful maid. She was like him—the opposite sex had never impressed her, never did anything to help her; always harming her. Like him, she had kept her distance. Like him, she refused to let anyone get close to her. It could have been perfect—a man and a woman, blissfully staying out of each other’s way.

And now they were married. Permanently. Forever. Till death do them part.

Sebastian groaned and pressed a pillow over his face. Eleanora had spent the last half-hour in the bathroom, taking off the wedding dress and bathing. He wondered (for the seventy-first hundredth time) what she looked like.

And then she stepped out of the bathroom and he saw her for the first time, for the second time…If that made any sense.

She was wearing a thin black lingerie dress. She was thin too—skeletal, almost. Her skin was too white, almost like a vampire’s. Her black hair reached down to the small of her back, curling slightly. Her mouth was small; her nose was pointy; her blue eyes were too big for her face, and they only looked bigger because of her long black eyelashes. She looked like a doll out of a horror opera.

She looked absolutely beautiful.

For several minutes, Sebastian just lay there, staring at her from underneath his pillow. She shifted uncomfortably and awkwardly played with a lock of her hair. Sebastian vaguely remembered how she looked when she was walking down the aisle towards him. She had looked beautiful then, too, but not nearly as lovely as she looked now.

He slowly stood up and approached her.

“You look…” he said and cleared his throat. “You look…”

She forced a small laugh and tossed her head. Her hair smelled like roses.

“You don’t have to say anything,” she said. “I know. You’re disappointed.”

Her looks were harsh, but she had a pleasantly musical voice. Not unnaturally sing-songily ditzy or annoying or anything; just slightly lilting.

Everything was coming back to him now—her face, her voice, her movements…The dialogue-thing in his memories was slowly filling back out into a real person.

She thought that she was disappointing. He was rather surprised. Then he was surprised at him being surprised. This whole situation was like meeting her for the first time again. It was strange.

She forced another laugh and then scooted by him, moving to the bed. Sebastian continued staring. She had a nice walk—some hip movement, not too exaggerated. Nice long legs. Her rear didn’t stick out.

She turned to look at him and he immediately averted his eyes. He felt a bit hot. He glanced at himself in a mirror and was ashamed to find that he was blushing.

“It’s just a shock,” he told himself. “It’s just a shock. By the morning, you’ll remember everything about her and then it’ll just be like before. You don’t like her. You’re just a bit shocked. That’s it. That’s all. Everything will be back to normal in the morning.”

Already he was remembering how much he had hated her. Then she cleared her throat and he turned to look at her and then he forgot again.

“Well?” she asked, pushing her hair behind her ear. “What now?”

“Now? Now I suppose that we…uh…sleep?”

Sebastian no longer felt tired. His demonic instincts had woken up within him, and now he felt eerily awake and energized. His eyesight was sharper; his mind was clearer; his head no longer hurt. He felt that he should suppress them, as usual, but for some reason, he didn’t really want to.

“What—you mean in the same bed?”

“Why not?” he said and sat down on the edge. “Which side do you want?”

“The…right.”

“Certainly.”

Eleanora lay down and covered herself up with the blankets. Sebastian lay down next to her and tried to calm down his urges.

“Eleanora?” he finally said.

“What?”

“It’s our wedding night, isn’t it?”

“I suppose…”

“So…don’t you think that we should do…something? Just to…commemorate…the occasion?”

He found her leg underneath the blankets and began stroking it. Mmm, she had nice skin…

She slapped his hand away.

“Touch me and I’ll shove this pillow down your throat and give you a third lung.”

Ah, yes. Eleanora had been fond of threats. But while her tone was hard and while she was glaring, there was a noticeable look of fear in her big blue eyes. The instincts died down enough for Sebastian to apologize and scoot away a bit regretfully.

“Just go to sleep,” he told himself. “Just go to sleep. It’ll all be better in the morning. You hate this woman, remember? You hate all women. You hate everyone! Especially humans.”

He told himself this over and over again. But his demonic urges still didn’t die down and he didn’t fall asleep for three hours.


	75. Chapter 75

They didn’t stay long in Hell after the wedding. They had business back in Phantomhive, so about a week after the ceremony, Rose and Jean saw the trio off at the train station. Jean wept throughout the whole goodbye and continually asked if Sebastian and Eleanora really couldn’t stay for just one more day?

Sebastian kissed his parents and Eleanora hesitantly did the same. Ciel got by with just a handshake. Then they boarded the train and soon they were off, going back to the human world.

Ciel settled back into his seat and watched the scenery go by. He wondered what everyone else had been doing in the months of their absence. Was the mansion still standing? Did the servants still have all of their limbs? Was Madam Red alright?

He glanced at his butler and his maid. Sebastian was staring out the window. Eleanora was reading a book. They were sitting in the same seat, but there was so much distance between them, it was like staring at two strangers. He wondered what they were thinking about. And then he wondered when they would go eat. The unholy were masters of desserts.

Sebastian was thinking about when he would be coming back home. Who knew how long this contract with the little bra—that is, young Master, would last? And then he’d finally—finally—get to eat that soul…He licked his lips at the thought. But then what? Would he go and find another master? Immediately after he had finished at Phantomhive? He doubted it. He was going to need a long, long break to recover from this one. So he’d come back here—back to warm, comforting Hell…Only he doubted that he would stay with his parents again. No, he’d go back to his own nice private mansion in the country, far away from humans and other creatures of significantly low-intelligence, and then in the evenings, he and Eleanora—

He paused in his thinking. “He and Eleanora?” It had never been “he and Eleanora” before. It had always just been Him. In fact, was “he and Eleanora” even grammatically correct? Why was he suddenly thinking about grammar? Was he intentionally distracting himself from the point?

He glanced at Eleanora out of the corner of his eye. She had brought out a deck of cards and was trying to teach the young Master how to play poker. She had never been a part of his future plans before. They had always lived separate lives. But naturally, he would have to do something about her after the contract was finished. Killing her was out of the question; they were properly married now; he would be convicted of uxoricide. Maybe he could find her a stable job in the human world and wish her a good life and that would be the end of it. Then she could live her life and he could live his life and the evenings would get so lonely and—why was he thinking like that? He had never been lonely before. He had always been perfectly happy in his own company. He had never liked having other people around—in fact, he usually strove to avoid other people. But he somehow felt that it would be different with Eleanora not around. But how so?

“I’m just slightly ill,” he told himself, pressing his hand against his forehead. “I’m just tired, first from the wedding planning, then from the wedding, and now this trip. I’ll feel better when we get back to the manor and things will return to normal.” He glanced at Eleanora again, who noticed this time and raised an eyebrow in his direction. He scowled at her to prove to her that he still hated her and then he went back to staring out the window.

“I wonder what she’s thinking about?” he suddenly thought. “Is she thinking about the future? Is she thinking about our future together? Is she thinking about ME?!”

He suddenly felt unnaturally hot, but it wasn’t a bad type of hot. For some strange reason, he felt almost…pleased. What was the word? Good? Yes, that was it. It felt good to have someone thinking about you—particularly if that someone was your wife.

“I’M JUST SICK I’M JUST SICK I’M JUST SICK.”

“I wonder when we’re going to eat?” Eleanora thought.


	76. Chapter 76

Eleanora had never thought that she would ever say it in her lifetime, but: it was good to go back to work.

Phantomhive was so familiar. The work was so consistent. And best of all, there was no wedding to prepare for. No strange in-laws always hounding her. She was (relatively) free.

Naturally the work was hard and the young Master could get a bit…demanding at times, but work forced one to think about work and sensible, practical things, and at night, she was almost always too tired to really worry about anything else except tomorrow’s schedule and sleep. The butler and she rarely crossed paths; they each had their own individual jobs to do, and that suited Eleanora just fine. She would have been perfectly happy to never see the demon ever again.

Sebastian was also calming down. Being a butler was so predictable at times. It was soothing. He barely saw Eleanora, let alone talk to her, and even then, their conversations were always short and to-the-point. No messy, useless, human emotions to interfere. Life was as good as it could get.

But…

Sebastian was a demon. He had natural demonic instincts, which he had always been good at suppressing. The instincts frequently urged him to do things—things like ripping off an adversary’s head, or going to a fancy restaurant and eating as much rich food as he wanted, or throwing certain young Masters off of certain manors’ rooftops. But he had always stifled them, only unleashing them when necessary. Being a gentleman—and a butler to boot—demanded it. Over time, he had gotten to the point where the instincts would only rise up in the direst of circumstances; other than that, they remained quiet within him.

But now they were rising up again, and he couldn’t understand why. He wasn’t in any danger. His prey wasn’t in any danger. He was in a perfectly fine mood…There was no reason for them to flare up like this, and so suddenly and constantly.

But the worst part about the instincts was that they were always about Eleanora.

One day, he was in the kitchen, preparing the young Master’s dinner. Eleanora was sitting at the table, mending clothes. Everything was perfectly normal. She was humming softly to herself. Sebastian was listening with half an ear and spent most of the time consulting and re-consulting the recipe.

And then the instincts blazed up.

“What are you doing?” they whispered.

“Cooking,” he answered back.

“That’s what you’re doing now,” they replied, “but what about afterwards?”

“Then I’ll give the food to the young Master.”

“But what about when the contract has expired and there is no more young Master? What will you do then?”

“That won’t happen in a while.”

“Humans are so delicate, so fragile. The little brat could die tomorrow. And then what will you do?”

“Then I’ll go back home.”

“And what about the lady?”

“Who?” Sebastian asked, even though he knew perfectly well who he was thinking about.

“Eleanora,” the instincts breathed tantalizingly. “Your wife—Eleanora Michaelis.”

“What about her?”

“What will you do with her when the contract’s over?”

“I’ll…find her a nice job up here. Maybe I’ll buy her a nice house. Send her money every month or so. Support her from a distance and all that.”

“Could you live like that? You know how long a demon lives…Can you really live a life like that?”

“Of…course. I mean, I’ve done it before.”

“Look at her,” he hissed to himself. “Just look at her, you clod.”

He looked at her. He couldn’t stop himself.

There she was, mending one of his tailcoats, frowning at a rather difficult hole and trailing off in her humming as she looked for ways to fix it.

“What do you see?” he asked himself.

“I see a maid.”

“You see a woman. You see your wife.”

“So? That doesn’t mean anything…”

“It means everything, you twit. This isn’t like your other contracts—you don’t live with her for a while and then you eat her soul and move on. This is for life. This is forever.”

“I hate those types of contracts. I hate it when I don’t get anything in return for my troubles.”

“You’re even stupider than I thought. Your father was right—you inherited his looks and absolutely none of his brains. Look at her again—look at her closely.”

Sebastian gave her another look, a deeper look.

“You see?” the instincts whispered. “You’re getting everything out of his contract…She’s yours forever…And you’re hers’ forever…Nothing keeping you away from each other, nothing able to break you two apart…”

Sebastian realized something, something so shocking and profound that it shut up his instincts (for the time being, anyway). He strode over to Eleanora, who had accidentally pricked herself with the needle and now had her finger in her mouth.

“Wah i eh?” she asked as he approached.

“Eleanora…” he said and knelt down next to her. He picked up her skirt and looked deep into her eyes…“There’s a hole in this dress.”

“Really?” she said, taking her finger out of her mouth and examining her maid uniform. The skirt was riddled with holes. “Well, fancy that.”

“It’s useless to repair it,” Sebastian sighed and looked at the whole outfit, which had been stitched back together so many times already that it resembled a resurrected uniform-corpse. “We’ll have to get you a new one.”

“Why? I have others,” she said, going back to the tailcoat.

“Do they all look like that?”

She hesitated.

“…No.”

Sebastian sighed and rose up.

“I’ll tell the young Master that we need to order a new uniform for you.”

“But why waste money? It’s a fine dress.”

It was several sizes too big on her and made in a style so unfashionable that even he could tell that it was several years out of date.

“You look as if you’re wearing a sack.”

She frowned at this. Sebastian suddenly got the urge to say that he didn’t mean it.

“But…if I don’t wear this, what else would I wear?”

“Another uniform? One that wouldn’t disgrace the Phantomhive name?”

“I can’t afford another uniform.”

“The young Master will pay for it. He pays for the rest of the servants’ clothing, so why not yours?”

“But I couldn’t ask him to…”

“You won’t have to ask him,” Sebastian said. “I’m going to ask him for you.”

“Wait—”

But he had already left.

Eleanora swore and tossed the tailcoat aside. She no longer wanted to mend it.

What is wrong with men? They always want to interfere with the stupidest of trifles and always stayed out of the important things. It was just a silly dress after all. So what if it had gotten a little old?

She frowned at the skirt and smoothed it out over her knees. As she did so, it tore.

So maybe it was a bit older than most uniforms. That didn’t mean that it had to be replaced.

She swore again and stood up. The damned butler’s food was burning. But he’ll get his. Someday, very, very soon, he would get his.


	77. Chapter 77

Two days later, there was a knock at the door. Eleanora went to go answer it and found a strange woman with a suitcase standing there.

The woman raised her eyebrow and began examining Eleanora, her eyes drifting up and down, up and down…Eleanora forced a small, self-conscious laugh.

“Yes? Can I help you?”

“I,” the lady announced grandly, “am Nina Hopkins!”

Eleanora blinked.

“That’s…great…?”

The lady blinked back.

“…Surely you know who I am?”

“…No?”

“I am the great Nina Hopkins, the tailor!”

“Ohh…” Eleanora had always thought that merchants had to come in through the back door, but she was here now, so…“Did the Earl invite you?”

“Yes, he said that one of his maids was in desperate need of a new uniform.” Nina gave Eleanora’s dress a critical look. “I’m assuming that that’s you?”

Eleanora frowned.

“I’m sure I don’t know who the Earl meant,” she said coldly, “but come in.”

Nina didn’t need to be invited twice; she breezed in and marched up the Earl’s study, as if she had been there before.

“Hellooo, Lord Phantomhive!” she said, entering the room with Eleanora quietly trailing behind. “How are you? And—Oh.” She scowled. “You still have the Stiff with you, I see.”

“Nina,” Ciel sighed, standing up. “Welcome. Have you already met Eleanora? She’s the one who needs the uniform.”

“Oh,” Nina gave Eleanora another quick, cutting look. “I understand.”

“What? Is there a problem?”

“Oh, nothing, my Lord,” the tailor sighed. “It’s just that…she doesn’t have the most flattering features…”

“You’re one to talk,” Eleanora mumbled under her breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

Sebastian smirked a bit.

“I don’t care if her features are up to your standards or not,” Ciel said, getting back to work. “Go and get her measurements and makes sure that she gets a proper uniform.”

Nina scowled again, but agreed. Sebastian led the two women to a private room and then stood outside the door, making sure that no one would be going in by accident. His mind drifted to other topics, such as the lunch preparations and cats and whether or not the laundry had been washed and then he heard Nina yelp inside the room.

“That—What is that?”

Then Eleanora’s calm voice:

“That? That’s a gun.”

“Well, what’s it doing in your stocking?”

Sebastian closed his eyes, which was worse than keeping him open, as his mind could now conjure up the image even better.

“What—does it make you uncomfortable?”

“Yes it makes me uncomfortable!”

A sigh.

“Fine.”

The sound of something clattering onto a table.

“Now then,” Nina continued. “If there’s nothing else—What is that?”

“That? That’s another gun.”

“Just how many guns do you have? How many do you even need? Why do you need them?!”

“For protection.”

“Protection from what? Dust bunnies?!”

Silence. Sebastian could picture Eleanora’s face. She was probably, as she would say, “pissed off.”

“Well, as long as there aren’t any more weapons around…” Nina sighed. “Well, what are you waiting for? Take the rest of your clothes off.”

Sebastian groaned. He did not have to hear that.

“What—all of them?”

“Of course, all of them! I need to take your measurements!”

Sebastian heard a faint whimper, and then swishing sounds as layers of clothing were removed. He realized that he was mentally counting down from full dress to absolute nudity.

And Nina was still discovering weapons. She almost cut herself on a switchblade which had fallen out of Eleanora’s corset.

Another silence, and then a low whistle.

“I take it all back,” Nina said, impressed. “You do have a very nice figure…That horrible dress that you were wearing covered it all up. Just look at the size of those things!...Do you mind if I…?”

“What? Touch them? No, go ahead.”

“Thank you!”

Sebastian groaned again. He desperately wanted to leave. But then Finny came by and asked if he could get something out of the room and Sebastian shooed him away. As soon as the gardener had left, Sebastian wondered if Nina was still touching Eleanora’s…things. Then he wondered if he would ever get the chance to touch them.

“Don’t think about it,” he told himself. “Think about cats. Think about cats. Think about cats.”

“And those legs! My goodness! They’re so long and slender! And so smooth!”

“Think about cats, think about cats, think about cats…”

“Mmm, and your hips aren’t so bad either...”

“IamthinkingaboutcatsIamthinkingaboutcatsIamthinkingaboutcats…”

Then Eleanora made a surprised noise that sounded like a kitten’s mewl and Sebastian stopped thinking about cats.

For a while, all was silence. Sebastian listened to it gratefully. And then there was a crashing sound and the sound of someone shrieking and he instinctively threw open the door.

“What is it? What happened?”

Eleanora—still quite naked—was lying on the floor.

“I was standing on the stool,” she said simply, “and Nina stumbled and pushed me and I lost my balance.”

“Uh...huh…”

“What are you doing!” Nina screamed. “Shame on you! Infiltrating a lady’s dressing-room! You pervert!” Nina grabbed an item of clothing and threw it at Sebastian, who dodged it and closed the door, breathing hard.

The item had landed on the opposite side of the hallway, in full view of Sebastian. He stared at it for a time, wondering what it was. And then he realized and his stomach dropped. He called out,

“Eleanora…Your k…Your…k…”

“My what?”

He cleared his throat and tried again.

“Your k…Your ko…Your cor…”

“You mean my corset?”

Sebastian nodded, even though Eleanora couldn’t possibly have seen it.

Another sigh, and then Nina shouted,

“Don’t go out there! Then he’ll see!”

“So what?”

The door opened and Sebastian immediately looked away, his face unnaturally hot.

“Oh, there it is.”

He watched Eleanora pick up the corset and turn to go back into the room. He looked away again.

“What is it? Your face is bright red.” Eleanora stood in front of him and felt his forehead. “Are you sick? Or…Oh no. Don’t tell me that you’re embarrassed?”

Sebastian cleared his throat again.

“What kind of a butler are you if you can’t stand seeing a woman naked?” Eleanora grinned and lightly hit his face with her corset as she strode into the room.

The door shut and Sebastian collapsed onto the floor. He felt something running from his nose—blood.

“What did I do?” he asked no one in particular in his mind. “What did I do to deserve such punishment?”

But, of course, nobody answered him.


	78. Chapter 78

About two days after the incident with the tailor, a package arrived for Eleanora. She had wanted to go upstairs with it, but Madam Red had insisted that she try on the new clothes in front of all the women first. So Eleanora, Mey-Rin, and Grell had gotten some tea and snacks and were now camping out in the Madam’s room, which was just fine with Sebastian. The young Master was calling him anyway.

He had a letter—from the Queen, of course; no one else liked him enough to send him anything, except for perhaps a bomb—which very politely asked him to look into some kind of cult that claimed to be able to resurrect the dead.

“Resurrect the dead?” Ciel frowned up at Sebastian. “Is that even possible?”

“It’s possible,” Sebastian said after thinking for a while. “I’ve known several people who have attempted it—but only a few; it’s extremely difficult to bring someone back to life. I sincerely doubt that an ordinary human could pull it off.”

“How do you do it?”

Sebastian gave him a look.

“First,” he said finally, “you have to get the two parts of their soul—one part goes to Death, and the other part usually goes to the Reapers or a demon. If a demon gets the soul, then that’s it. If the Reaper gets the soul, it’s extremely difficult to get it back, and it’s even harder to get the other part from Death than it is to get it from the Reapers. Then you need their original heart and brain, still in working order—meaning, they must not have rotted at all. If they’ve rotted, then it’s harder for the process to work. And if a vampire has gotten the heart, then that’s it. And if an undead has gotten the brain, then that’s it also. And after you’ve gotten all these things—soul, heart, and brain—you need to put them in a body, preferably the body that the pieces have come from. If you don’t have that body, you have to find another body that won’t reject the organs. And then there’s a lot of prayer and scientific things that have to be done. It’s all very complicated and if the slightest thing goes wrong, the whole experiment is ruined. Most people don’t attempt it—it’s easier to just accept and allow for the dead to remain dead.”

“I see…” Ciel said. “So, even if a human was somehow able to know how to do all those things…”

“…the possibility of them actually being able to do it all is incredibly, almost impossibly slim.”

“So it’s probably a hoax. They’re probably not really bringing the dead back to life.”

“As I said, the ritual has extremely low success rates, even for us unholy. The chances of a human pulling it off…”

“Hmm…” Ciel frowned at the letter. “It says here that the next meeting is purportedly on a ship…” He looked up at his butler. “Find that ship and get tickets.”

“Certainly, my Lord. How many?”

“Two…No, three.”

“Three, my Lord? May I ask what the third one is for?”

“Oh, for anyone else who wants to go. Someone useful. Actually…” Ciel looked up at Sebastian. “Give it to Eleanora.”

The normally-impassive butler noticeably winced.

“What? Something wrong?”

“It’s nothing, my Lord. It’s just that…” Sebastian took a deep breath. “Eleanora and I do not get along, and I sincerely doubt that she would be of any use to me—us—during this…expedition. To put it bluntly, sir, she would only get in my way, should a situation arise.”

“Nonsense, an extreme situation shouldn’t occur if it truly is a hoax,” Ciel said. “Besides, it’s probably taking place on one of those luxury liners. It’ll be like a pleasure cruise!”

“My Lord,” Sebastian said, smiling thinly, “any trip with Eleanora will most certainly not be a pleasure cruise…”

“Tea, my Lord,” Eleanora said, entering the room, carrying a tray and wearing her brand-new uniform.

It was black, with a white frilly apron. It looked like something a tasteful French maid would wear. It was professional, but was also rather tight, showing off her bust and her curves, which she seemed to suddenly have quite a lot of.

Sebastian’s words died in his throat as she passed. He couldn’t stop staring, and even after she had left, he kept on staring at the door.

Ciel cleared his throat. Sebastian slowly turned to look at him again.

“I take it that Eleanora won’t be a problem anymore?”

Sebastian cleared his throat; his demonic eyes returned to normal.

“My Lord, she’ll still be a problem—”

“—she’ll just be less of one. Got it.”

“My Lord—”

“SO it’s settled!” Ciel said loudly. “Eleanora will be coming with us on this trip!”

Sebastian thought it wise not to argue anymore.


	79. Chapter 79

Eleanora, actually, did not like boats. In truth, she had never been on a boat before, but since she had never been on one, she naturally assumed that she hated it.

And it appeared that her initial impressions of boats and sailing were correct when they got to the harbor.

First of all, everything smelled of fish. Eleanora liked fish just as much as the next person, but…there was such a thing as too much fish. And this wasn’t the nice, fresh fish smell, like in the kitchen when Sebastian cooked. This was a horrible, half-rotted, trash-fish type smell.

The sea was overrated. As Eleanora leaned over the railing, waiting impatiently for the rest of the passengers to hurry-up-and-get-on-the-damned-thing-already, she stared down at the water lapping against the sides of the ship. It didn’t look at all appetizing—it actually looked a bit sickening. She decided, right then and there, that she was not the type of woman to become a pirate—which was actually quite a shame, as “pirate” had always sounded like a good back-up plan to her…if being a maid and a demon’s wife didn’t work out, that is.

Eleanora wondered if she would get seasick. She hoped not—that sounded terribly unpleasant and unprofessional. She absentmindedly glanced at the butler, who was standing a bit aways from her, staring out into space. He probably never got seasick. She wished that she could ask, but that would be rude and also show that she actually cared about him, which she most certainly did not. She wondered where the young Master was and if he was getting into trouble already.

Sebastian, meanwhile, was remembering the first time he had been on a boat. He didn’t remember the place, but he remembered that he had panicked when he couldn’t see land and spent most of the trip lying down in the cabin. It hadn’t been fun for him, but his father had invented a drinking game where one would take a shot everytime Sebastian would turn green. So his father hadn’t really spent much time sober—he had wandered around the deck in a drunken daze—drunk by unholy standards, of course. They hadn’t gone on many cruises after that. Luckily, Sebastian had been able to overcome seasickness quickly; now he wasn’t bothered by it. He wondered where the young Master was. Probably already getting into some form of trouble.

After what seemed to be forever, the passengers were finally all on, the luggage was safely stored away, and the ship was moving. Eleanora watched the land until it was out of sight. Then there was nothing around but water—disgusting, bad-smelling, seawater.

“Are you feeling alright?” Sebastian asked, standing next to her. She jumped; she had almost forgotten that he was around. He had disappeared before the boat had left.

“Fine. Where’s the young Master?”

“He’s lying down in his cabin,” the butler sighed. “I forgot that he gets seasick.”

Eleanora couldn’t resist a grin; she turned her face away so that he wouldn’t see.

“How soon will he recover?” she asked once she could say it with a straight face.

“Who knows? Soon, I hope. We have business to attend to.”

“Oh, so this isn’t a normal vacation cruise? I was wondering why the Earl insisted that I come…” She stared out at sea again. So far, she hadn’t felt any ill effects from travelling. Maybe pirate was still a back-up occupation…

“Eleanora?” Sebastian said.

“Hm?”

“I want to make one thing very clear to you.”

“Certainly. What?”

“I hate you.”

Eleanora paused and turned to look at him.

“…What?”

“I just wanted to make sure that you knew,” he said stiffly. “Just so you wouldn’t get any…ideas.”

“What ideas? What the hell are you talking about?”

“Language. And no matter what happens, I’ll always hate you. And absolutely nothing will change that. We did not marry for love, and we will never love one another. We are husband and wife in name and legality only. Do you understand?”

Eleanora was at a loss for words for a couple of seconds. Then she regained her tongue and scowled at him.

“You took the words out of my mouth,” she said icily. The butler nodded.

“Just as long as we’re clear.”

“Transparently.”

Sebastian nodded again and left. Eleanora leaned against the railing again, furious beyond words.

“What the hell was that all about?” she thought. “He didn’t have to go out and say it—I already knew that. He didn’t have to be so…so…Why the hell did he even do that? He didn’t need to say that to me—maybe…he just needed to say that…to himself? But why? No, that’s not it. He’s just an asshole, and that’s it.”

Eleanora spat into the seawater. So, this was going to be the whole trip. Just boredom and hearing the young Master vomit and the butler reminding her that he hated her. What fun. The trip had just started and she already couldn’t wait for it to be over.


	80. Chapter 80

There was a party in the first-class passenger lounge several days after the ship had set sail. Ciel was wandering around, absentmindedly eating the occasional tidbit, his legs still a bit shaky. Sebastian had disappeared, and Eleanora was wandering around outside. People who lived in first-class made her uncomfortable.

“My Lord.”

Ciel jumped a bit and turned around. Sebastian was standing behind him.

“It’s tonight.”

“Yes, I know,” Ciel said and frowned at the crowd. He wondered where Elizabeth had run off to. She probably wouldn’t notice if he went missing for a couple of hours. “Well…Shall we go? We have to disguise ourselves, after all…”

The boat lurched and he felt a twinge of sickness. No, not now. Not tonight. He could be sick on any other night, but not tonight. Tonight was too important.

“I’ll go and get ready,” he said, choosing a random excuse to go to his room and lie down for a few minutes. “Meet me in my room in ten.”

“Certainly.”

And Ciel strode away, trying to indiscreetly grab things for support as he went. Sebastian watched him go and then looked out at the crowd. In the distance, he could see Eleanora outside.

“Well, why not?” he thought. After all, they had parted on rather bad terms. It was high time to make up. He walked towards her.

Eleanora was staring at the stars, shivering slightly. It was a cold night—far too cold for a midnight swim, if any moron was dumb enough to jump overboard. It was also an incredibly peaceful night; nothing out of the ordinary was happening; but for some reason, she couldn’t get rid of a nervous feeling in her stomach.

“Ms. Black?”

She turned around; the butler was approaching her.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked, standing next to her.

“Nothing. Just…thinking.” She looked out at the sea. “It’s very calm tonight.”

“Mm, that’s good. There’ll be less excitement.”

“It’s hard to see anything out here…”

“What’s to see?”

“I don’t know.”

He scoffed and she scowled at him.

“What?”

“Nothing.” They were silent for a few minutes. Sebastian started mentally counting down; in eight minutes, he had to go and see the young Master. “I’ve been thinking a lot too.”

“Really? That’s a surprise. I hope your little brain wasn’t strained from the sudden exercise?”

“Don’t get upset; don’t get upset; don’t get upset…”

“I realize that I may have been a bit…harsh the last time we spoke.”

“Really? What gave you that idea?”

“I thought that we might make up,” he said, giving her a look from the corner of his eyes, trying to tell her that he was very kindly allowing her to make up with him, and that she should be grateful and seize the chance while she could.

“I thought that I saw a whale,” she replied, “but then it turned out to be you.”

His eyebrow twitched; he felt his anger rising.

“…Are you implying that I’m fat?”

“If the shoe fits, tubby,” Eleanora said, poking his stomach, “wear it.”

“I am not FA—” He composed himself. He wasn’t going to get anywhere by getting upset with her. Six minutes left. “I take it that you don’t want to make up?”

“Ask me tomorrow,” she said. “I’m not in a good mood right now.”

“Oh? Why not?”

“I don’t know,” she murmured and looked away. “It’s just…It’s such a calm night…”

“Yes, I believe that you mentioned that.”

“I don’t know,” she repeated. “I just have this strange feeling…that something really bad is going to happen soon…”

“It’ll pass,” he said dismissively. Four minutes.

“Maybe it won’t. Maybe I’ll be right.”

“I don’t have such a feeling,” he said, smiling at her mockingly. “And if someone such as I don’t have such a feeling, I don’t see much validity.”

“But what if I’m right and something bad really will happen?”

“The odds of that happening, Eleanora.”

She stared at him for a few minutes, her eyes coldly furious.

“One day,” she said slowly, “something really bad will happen, and then you’ll see that I was right all along. But by the time that happens, I’ll be gone forever, and you’ll never see me again.”

“Sweetheart,” he said, grinning, “when the day comes that I’ll never have to see you again, I won’t have time to realize that you were right…because I’ll be celebrating until Heaven falls.”

Eleanora’s eyes widened; she couldn’t speak for a few minutes from rage; all she could do was spit at him and call him something awful.

“I hate you,” she hissed. “I HATE you.”

“Likewise, I’m more than sure,” he said, still smiling. She stomped away, her eyes filling up with angry tears. Sebastian felt a pang of something…He wasn’t sure what it was. Maybe hunger. In any case, he had to go and get his young Master.

He strode to the first-class quarters, his conversation with Eleanora already drifting out of his mind. His last thought about it was,

“She’ll get over it. She always could. No matter what happens, she’ll be just fine.”


	81. Chapter 81

Eleanora couldn’t remember the last time she had been so upset. Just who the hell did that butler think he was? Always thinking that he was better than her in every way—always assuming that he was right and she was wrong, and why? Because she was a mere human. It wasn’t fair! Humans could do things that demons couldn’t, like…like…like…

Well, she would think about the perks of being a human later. For now, she was tired and angry. She wanted to either go to sleep or kill something. What a shame that she could only do one of those choices on a cruise.

She went to her cabin in the third class area and lay down on the bed and tried to go to sleep. She, unfortunately, shared the cabin with the butler, but he was busy with something—probably saving the young Master’s delicate ass again. That boy could find trouble in a padded room.

She suddenly felt a small jolt run through the room, as if someone had run an electric current throughout the ship. Oh, well, someone had probably just tried to do something stupid and the power had gone out. Nothing major.

She closed her eyes and rolled over, forcing herself not to think about the damned dumb demon. She could deal with the butler later, when he would come in later. Then again, she could just pretend to be asleep and then deal with him tomorrow. Yes, that was a good plan. If she hadn’t fallen asleep by the time he came in, she would pretend to be unconscious, no matter what. And already she was feeling tired…Her last conscious thought was, once again, about the Young Master. Hopefully, he wasn’t in a situation so bad that the butler couldn’t fix it.

Meanwhile, Ciel was in a really bad situation, and Sebastian was absolutely nowhere to be found.

He was standing on top of a huge crate, clutching his fiancée, Elizabeth, trying to remember where it all went wrong. He remembered going to the Aurora Society meeting…He remembered thinking that it was all just a big hoax…He remembered a corpse coming back to life…And then that Grim Reaper who was completely obsessed with Grell for some reason showed up…And then the man who had run the meeting had run off…And then Elizabeth had followed him…And then it turned out that the ship’s storage freight was full of newly-reanimated corpses who were now trying to devour him and his fiancée.

And Sebastian was still off fighting that one Reaper. Could things get any worse?

The crate that they were on suddenly lurched. Ciel risked looking down to see what the corpses were doing—

They were tearing it down using their teeth and nails. Perfect.

“Ciel!” Elizabeth said. “Ciel, what’s happening? Are we—Are we going to die?”

“No!” Ciel said hurriedly. “We aren’t! That is to say, maybe! But it’s alright!” He held her tighter. “No matter what happens, I will definitely protect you!”

“How admirable, my Lord.”

The main corpses who were attacking the crate suddenly fell to the ground—the butler was standing on the stairs, grinning.

“Risking your life for one woman—truly noble of you.”

“Sebastian!” Ciel felt a surge of relief for half a millisecond, which was then replaced by anger. “Why are you just standing there! DO SOMETHING!”

“Certainly, sir.” He charged for the corpses and his hand stretched out towards one of their heads…

Ciel forced Elizabeth’s head into his chest so that she wouldn’t see the carnage. It was a horrible, horrible scene, but it was all over with surprisingly quickly.

“I’m done, young Master,” Sebastian said, smiling.

Ciel took several deep breaths. It was absolutely disgusting—his butler, normally so calm and immaculate, standing in a pool of blood, his usually-pristine white gloves soaked with red, his eyes still flashing with demonic bloodthirstiness.

“Couldn’t you have been a bit neater about it?” Ciel was finally able to say once he was firmly on the floor. “This is disgusting.”

“I’m sorry,” Sebastian said, not looking very sorry at all. “It was an emergency.”

“But, Ciel,” Elizabeth said, taking his arm, “what exactly were those things? And…And what do they want?”

“They want to eat people,” Ciel said, “but it’s alright now. They’re gone. It’s over.”

“But…But who would do such a thing?”

Sebastian suddenly made a move and pinned someone who was trying to sneak away.

“Well, if it isn’t you,” Ciel said, glaring at the cowering man. “Rian Stoker, founder of the Aurora Society. I’m not in a good mood, so you’d better start explaining why these corpses suddenly started moving around.”

“I’d love to,” the man gasped, “but I can’t. Not right now!”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Sebastian said, grabbing him as he tried to run away. “There’s still plenty of time before we reach our final destination, so we’ll be listening to your story with the greatest of interest.”

“No! You don’t understand! This ship is so big…There are two storage rooms! One in front and one in the back, in the third class…”

“So?” Ciel said.

“And-And in the second storage freight,” Stoker stammered, “we put in ten times as many samples as in here!”

Ten times as many samples. Elizabeth audibly gasped and Ciel put his hand over his eyes. Sebastian just rolled his. Humans could be so stupid sometimes.

“And you just decided to bring this up now? How could you have possibly forgotten something so important?” Ciel demanded.

“I couldn’t help it!” Stoker wailed. “I didn’t think that it was important at the time! I thought that it wouldn’t have such a big impact on me!”

“Well, never mind,” Ciel said. He pulled his gun out and jabbed Stoker’s ribs with it. “Do you know how to stop them?”

“Y-Yes; I have a device in my room that can turn them all off again…”

“Then let’s go and get it, and quickly.”

“But, Ciel!” Elizabeth said. “What about my parents!”

“Oh…right.” Ciel said, sharing a look with Sebastian. “We-ell…I’m sure they’ll be alright, as long as they don’t go into the second storage freight…”

“But…But…” Her eyes started brimming with tears. “My parents…!”

“Who are these people?” Stoker asked. “Some kind of lord and lady?”

“Something like that,” Sebastian nodded. “Kind of like a lady, only more…more…”

He suddenly had a horrible feeling in his stomach, as if it was rapidly plummeting downwards. Lady…Lady…Third class…Lady…

“I didn’t think that it was important at the time…I thought that it wouldn’t have such a big impact on me…”

“Eleanora,” Sebastian gasped. “María, I forgot Eleanora…”

“What was that?”

“My Lord, you get this device turned on. I have to go and see to something.”

“What? Really? Is it important?”

“YES.”

 

“But what if we get into more trouble?”

But Sebastian was already gone.

Meanwhile, Eleanora was deeply asleep in her third class cabin. She didn’t hear anything move around in the storage freight below her, she didn’t hear anyone’s screams, and she certainly didn’t hear something pounding on her door, occasionally scratching at it, desperate to get in…


	82. Chapter 82

EleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanora—

The name ran through his head with every step. It was all he was focused on, all he could think about was that name, and the person attached to it. He wasn’t paying any attention to his surroundings, moving as fast as he could; his legs little more than a blur—upstairs, first class sections, second class sections, deck, downstairs, getting to the third class…

By this time, the reanimated corpses had flooded into the second class and were steadily advancing towards the first class. The crew—or what was remaining of the crew—locked the doors so that no one from the third and second classes could leave, despite their many protestations and panicked screams.

“Sir,” one crewman asked, “are you sure about this? Letting all of these people die?”

“We have no choice,” the other one said grimly. “If we let them out, there’ll be more panic in the first class, plus some more of those horrible undead things.”

The first crewman bit his lip and looked in pity at the begging people on the other side of the door. Both of them turned to leave when the first one stopped again.

“Wait. Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” the second man said and paused. Yes, in the distance, he could hear something…Someone...

“ra…nora…eanora…Eleanora…”

“It sounds like…Eleanora…”

“But who the hell is Eleanora?”

Meanwhile, the person who was shouting seemed to be coming closer, and then a man in a tailcoat appeared, running like mad towards them, and repeating over and over to himself,

“ELEANORAELEANORAELEANORAELEANORAELEANORAELEANORAELEANORA—”

“Wait! Stop! If you keep going, you’ll run into the bars—”  
But the man either didn’t hear him, or he didn’t care, because he just kept running, and didn’t even slow down when he reached the barred door. The people on the other side wisely stepped aside for him, because as soon as he reached the bars, he just tore through them, as if he was running through a door made of wet paper.

And as soon as the barred door had been broken, everyone who had been on the other side immediately started streaming out.

But Sebastian didn’t care.

EleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanora—

Down the stairs, through several hallways, step on several zombies’ heads on the way, room 663, room 664, room 665, room 666—here!

He stopped in front of the third class room—no one else had wanted that particular room number, which was odd, as that was the luckiest unholy number of all—and kicked the door down.

“ELEANORA!”

The room was absolutely trashed. The clothes that had been in the suitcases were scattered all over the floor. The suitcases themselves had been torn apart—no, not torn—blasted. The walls were riddled with bullet holes.

And Eleanora was lying on the floor, face-down, a broken gun next to her lifeless body.

Sebastian collapsed to his knees.

“El—” he started and swallowed hard. “El-Eleanora?”

His hands—normally so steady and reliable—trembled as he gently picked her up.

“Eleanora?” he whispered and turned her face so that he could look at it.

Her mouth was unnaturally wide with too-big teeth. Her skin had lost its nice softness and her eyes were blindfolded.

Sebastian dropped the corpse and stood up. The corpse’s body was also filled with bullet holes, and there was one in the back of its head. So Eleanora must have shot and killed it while it was chewing on her gun.

He began looking around the room, this time thoroughly. Her nightgown was lying on the floor and some of her clothes were missing, as well as all of the weapons that she had stubbornly insisted on bringing. He had told her not to when they were packing—he had said that they wouldn’t be needed, but she had brought them anyway. So she had been right

The relief that she was still alive had improved his stomach, but now he felt it disappearing again, as if it had been replaced by a bottomless pit.

“Eleanora?” he whispered. “Eleanora?”

He picked up her nightgown and pressed it against his face. It was cold—which meant that she had changed and left the room a while ago.

Which meant that she was probably no longer in third class.

Which meant that she was probably wandering around the ship which was swarming with the walking dead.

“Oh Lord,” he whispered and staggered to his feet again. “Oh Lord…”

“One day, something really bad will happen, and then you’ll see that I was right all along…”

“Eleanora?” he whispered, dropping the nightgown. “Sweetheart?”

“…but by the time that happens…”

“Eleanora? Darling? My dearest?” He moved to the door.

“…I’ll be gone forever…”

“Eleanora. Eleanora. Eleanora!”

“…and you’ll never see me again.”

“ELEANORA!” he screamed and ran out of the room, kicking down every closed door he could find before moving on to the next one. “Eleanora? Eleanora? Eleanora? Where are you! Come on, sweetheart; come on, darling; please come out; I swear I’ll never do anything to you ever again; just please, please, please be alive…”

There was a sudden jolt and Sebastian was knocked off-balance.

“What was that?” he thought and looked up into a window, just to see a massive white thing crunch by the ship, slicing it open. “Oh, wonderful. Just what I needed.”

“The young Master.”

Sebastian couldn’t help it; he swore and rose to his feet and ran to go and see if the little brat needed some help, which he almost certainly did.

“I’ll get Eleanora later,” he thought, the pit in his stomach being replaced by guilt. “She’ll be fine. She has a gun. And she’s competent, which is more than what I could say for the young Master. She’ll be fine. She’ll be just fine.”

“For the love of the Lord, Eleanora, please be fine.”


	83. Chapter 83

Eleanora was not fine. First of all, she was unceremoniously woken up by something breaking down her door and then trying to lunge at her throat, which refused to be killed until she had shot it through the head. And now she was running around a panic-filled cruise ship, trying to find out just what the hell was going on and how could she help.

Finding out what was going on was hard, mostly because absolutely no one on the whole ship seemed to know in the first place, but she had a vague suspicion that it was all the butler’s fault, because he was a demon and she needed to blame someone and she was still very upset at him, never mind that most signs pointed to her dying on a huge, rotting piece of pleasure-cruise garbage.

But she tried not to think about that, because—somehow—miraculously—she was still alive and she was still armed to the teeth and still had enough of her wits about her to be able to shoot the strange blindfolded flesh-eaters in the head.

Her second problem—how she could help—was a bit less difficult to solve than the first problem, but it was still hard. For one thing, she wasn’t sure just when she was going to run out of ammunition. And for another thing, eventually she was going to run out of steam and not be able to run anymore. And who knew how many of these flesh-eating bozos were still alive? And where were the young Master and that damned butler?

Well, the young Master had probably run off to make sure that the Lady Elizabeth was alright, which meant that he was probably around the first class rooms. She was running towards them, shooting as many blindfolded humans as she could on the way, when she turned a corner and ran right into…

“Grell Sutcliff,” she gasped and leaned against the wall to catch her breath. “And that young punk. What are you doing here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Grell said, grinning. “We’re here to do our job!”

“I thought that you were doing your job, back in London. You know, all those noble killings?”

“Oh, those,” Grell said, waving her hand aside. “That case was finished and closed by Scotland Yard a while ago!”

“Really? Why wasn’t I informed?”

“You were informed! Remember? The Madam sent a letter to the young Master when you were in Hell, explaining how it all came about.”

“I don’t recall.”

“Don’t tell me you forgot about it entirely!”

“Of course I didn’t! It’s just that planning a !!!ing wedding does have a habit of pushing other things out of one’s mind!...By the way, who did it?”

“I can’t believe you don’t remember that letter. It was that little whining brat…Oh, what’s his name…”

“Ciel Phantomhive.”

“No! The other one with the really dumb name…”

“Ciel Phantomhive.”

“No!...Oh, that’s right; it was Wallace W. Wallace.”

“NO! Really?”

“Of COURSE not!...It was his father.”

“REALLY?! How’d you figure that out?!”

“Well, after we rescued that kid’s pathetic rear, Scotland Yard followed him home to make sure that he would get there alright, and then they discovered—but why am I explaining all this to you! I have bigger things to worry about!”

“Oh, right!” Eleanora said, suddenly remembering. “The young Master!” She reloaded her gun and prepared to leave. “Thank you for the wonderful explanation, Grell. It’s as if you didn’t make that up on the spot!”

“Of course I didn’t make it up on the spot! It really happened! Really! And it was important!”

“Then why didn’t you explain it to me earlier?”

“Because I figured that you already knew about it! And plus I had other, more important things to worry about!”

“Oh, really? Like what?”

“Like romantic subplot!” Grell said proudly.

“How in the hell do you get romantic subplot from something like this?”

“Oh, you foolish human girl—you can get romantic subplot from anything!”

“Even a cruise turned evil when people started going insane and started eating other people?”

“Actually, they’re dead people coming back to insane life and eating other living people. And yes. Are you kidding me? That’s where you get the most romantic subplots of all! And just between you and me…” Grell leaned in and started whispering, “I know exactly who’s involved in this beautiful drama!”

“Really? Who?”

“Well, it involves a certain butler...”

Eleanora gasped.

“Really? But…But I thought that…” she leaned in as well, “I thought that the young Master liked girls?”

“…What? Of course he does!...Wait. Are you implying that…” Grell’s eyes opened in horror at the thought. “Did you actually think that Bassy—”

“Well, I mean, it would explain a lot,” Eleanora said defensively. “Particularly why that damned butler’s hair always smells so nice. And why are you so upset about it? You’d think that, if he truly was like…that, and really did like…certain sexes, you’d be the one getting the most benefit out of it!”

“No, I would not! I’m a woman!...In spirit.”

“That’s right!” Ronald Knox said, to which the other two simultaneously told him to shut up.

“But why are we discussing the butler’s preferred gender! How did we even get on this topic?”

“I told you—” Grell started, but the ship suddenly jerked and they all fell to the ground with the impact.

“Oh dear,” Ronald said, flipping through his book. “It seems like things are going to get a little bit more interesting…”

“Why? What’s going on? What’s going to happen?” Eleanora asked, looking panicked.

“You see, that was just the iceberg that this ship was going to hit, right on schedule,” he said.

“So…?”

“And so, this ship is going to sink within the hour.”

Eleanora stared at him for a while.

“Well, !!!,” she finally said and stood up.

“Wait! Where are you going?” Grell said.

“I have to go and find the young Master!”

“But where’s my Bassy? Where’s my love story!”

“Damned if I know!” Eleanora shouted over her shoulder and within seconds she had disappeared.

“You know, Miss Sutcliff,” Ronald said slyly, “you don’t need a butler to have a love story…”

“Later, Ronald—we have a job to do!...Just until I find my sweet love, that is…”

The two Reapers rose up and Ronald consulted his book.

“Well, then,” he sighed. “Let’s go.”

And they ran off in the opposite direction of Eleanora’s route.

Unlike the business-like attitude of Ronald Knox, Eleanora’s mind had now started reeling. Everytime she shot one of the blindfolded humans, she felt sicker inside. It was different when she thought that they were alive—killing living people was easy. Killing dead people…? That was unnatural. They were dead. That was the point of being dead—to not come alive again!

And worst of all, the young Master was nowhere to be found: not in his room, not in Elizabeth’s room, not in any room at all.

“Wonderful,” she groaned and had to stop and rest for a bit. “Now where could they be?”

A living-dead person came around the corner and Eleanora shot him in the head. She was just about to do it again, for good measure, when she realized that she was now officially out of ammunition.

“Well…shit.”


	84. Chapter 84

Ciel thought that, all things considered, it was a very nice vacation.

That is, if one slightly omitted the details about reanimated corpses killing people on a sinking ship in the middle of a freezing sea with absolutely no one around to help for miles.

Ciel relayed all of this to Sebastian when the butler came around and asked him how he was doing.

“How the bloody hell do you think I’m doing?” he finished.

And in response to his rather riveting speech, the butler growled at him.

An honest-to-goodness growl. Not a human making a pathetic growling noise, but an animal-like growl—a very, very angry animal growl.

Sebastian was most assuredly not in a good mood. He couldn’t find Eleanora and instead of looking for her, he had to run all the way to the front of the ship to save the young Master’s precious gluteus, and when he had finally gotten there, his reward was a lecture.

He hadn’t meant to growl—if his past self had known about it, he would have blushed in shame at behaving in a way not at all suitable for a Phantomhive butler. But he was under a lot of stress and panic and over half of his brain had been taken over his by demonic instincts, which were now telling him that if anyone bothers you, you give them a warning growl, and then you bite their face off.

Fortunately for Ciel, he recognized the danger signs and decided that the butler was not in a toying mood.

“Where’s Eleanora?” he asked to quickly change the subject.

A flash of pain and fear swept over Sebastian’s burning pink eyes.

“You mean you haven’t found her yet?!”

Ciel also felt a surge of fear. Eleanora was a valuable asset to Phantomhive—not to mention, she was a good maid and an excellent conversationalist. He also realized that, should she die, she was the type to come back and haunt people from beyond the grave, which didn’t sound very fun, especially when the ghost haunting you is a pissed-off woman with extensive knowledge of weaponry.

“Well, what are you going to do?” he asked.

For the first time since he had met Sebastian, he actually looked at a loss.

“I don’t know,” he said in such a small, quiet voice that Ciel almost started pitying him.

Then the ship lurched and he was snapped back to reality.

“Sebastian, you go and get Elizabeth on deck and into a lifeboat,” he said, passing his fretting fiancée over to the butler.

Sebastian nodded and actually looked a bit relieved, as if glad that he could go back into his butler-role again.

“What will you do, my Lord?”

Ciel quickly checked his gun.

“Do you know if there’s a…a storage shed for weapons? For…emergencies or something?”

“Yes, there’s one down there a ways and then a right,” Sebastian pointed. He had wanted to go and check there, too—just to see if Eleanora was there, or had been there…or…or…

His demonic instincts died down as he felt that he didn’t really know exactly what to do. It was almost a new feeling—for centuries, he had always known just what to do. But now…

But he couldn’t think about that now. He shook his head to clear out the dark thoughts while the young Master and the young lady were quickly parting, then he took Elizabeth up to the deck and didn’t leave until she was safely on a lifeboat.

After seeing the lifeboat row away from the ship, he spent several minutes debating with himself on what to do. Normally, he would’ve been able to trace both Eleanora and the young Master by their contract seals, but with all this panic and confusion and muddling of souls, he could barely find the young Master, and even that was just because he already had a general idea of where he was supposed to be. Forget finding a needle in a haystack—finding Eleanora on this ship would be like finding a solitary strand of hair in a burning forest.

He sighed but still went back down into the ship, heading towards the third class, for the slight hope that he might at least see a sign of her—a hint that she was still alive.

Meanwhile, Ciel was having better luck than Sebastian. He had found a safe that contained ammunitions and artilleries, which normally would have been kept under strict lock and key, but someone had found a metal pipe and had forced it open.

Unfortunately, most of the safe had been cleaned out—there were hardly any guns or bullets left, but Ciel still managed to find several packs of bullets for his particular gun.

He reloaded the gun and turned to leave, when he suddenly paused and looked at the floor.

There was something glimmering in a spot of dried blood—disgusting, but the shiny thing still looked vaguely familiar.

He knelt down and picked it up to examine it further: a small, silver cross on a chain. He recognized it, however bloodstained—Eleanora always wore such a necklace. It was one of her few precious possessions.

The cross charm almost slid off of the chain before he caught it in time. He examined the breakage—he wasn’t an expert, but based on all of the violence going around (and the twice-dead corpse lying a few feet away) he could only assume that one had attacked her and torn her necklace off.

For the first time in several hours, he had a strange feeling of desperate, rising hope. He had found Eleanora’s necklace, which meant two things:  
1) Eleanora had been here, which meant that she was still alive.

And,  
2) She was armed, which meant that she could still defend herself, thus staying alive for longer (in theory, anyway)

Sebastian would be pleased.

He pocketed the necklace—she would be glad to have it back, if they both managed to survive this night—and then he went to go look for the idiot who had started this whole mess and his magical machine which would fix it all.


	85. Chapter 85

An hour really wasn’t that much time. Normally, one would think that an hour was an eternity, but in actuality, it really wasn’t that big of a deal. There were sixty minutes in an hour, and sixty seconds in a minute, which meant that an hour consisted of 3600 seconds. And everybody knew how short a second was…Pocket change, really. Less than pocket change.

And the clock was ticking. Soon the boat would sink.

Eleanora hadn’t seen anyone familiar for quite some time—it felt like hours and hours, which was of course ridiculous, as the boat was going to sink in an hour. It was so strange the way time could move so slowly and yet so quickly at the same time.

In fairness, she had seen the butler, but she still wasn’t so sure if seeing the butler counted—especially after what she saw him do.

She had been running around the first-class area, trying to find a way to get to the deck, when she noticed a man waving a check around.

This was odd—she was pretty sure that money had no value in disaster situations—so she stopped and looked to see what he was planning on doing with that pretty piece of paper. He seemed to be trying to offer it to somebody…

And then a hearse pulled by two undead horses crashed into him and he was carried away, still screaming to be saved.

Eleanora blinked, mildly shocked. She had never seen an undead horse before—in fact, who on earth would want to resurrect horses? Somebody who really liked horses, maybe, but it was still rather strange.

She felt a pang as she watched the hearse drive by—that poor man.

But wait! There was someone standing by—someone who was just watching that man die. But who could possibly be so cruel to just stare so impassively?

The hearse crashed through the wall and she got a good look at them.

It was the butler. Of course.

Dammit, she really wished that she could be surprised. But she wasn’t—she just glared at him in sheer disgust, and he just kind of rolled his eyes at seeing the man’s death and he turned to go and suddenly he looked up and saw her.

His face went blank in shock, then he snapped into action and ran for her.

“Eleanora! Stay there and don’t mo—”

Then the door on the far side of the hallway broke down and more of the undead humans poured out and began racing towards her and the butler was still shouting for her not to go anywhere.

“Screw that,” she thought and ran.

That had been three hours ago—or was it three minutes? Her sense of time was still distorted and she still couldn’t find the deck.

She was just about to give up and look for a crew member and ask for directions when the boat suddenly lurched to one side.

“Ohshitohshitohshitohshitohshitohshitohshit—”

Fortunately, she was able to crash into a wall and stay there for a few seconds, her mind racing. The boat had stabilized itself, but for how long? She couldn’t stay on board anymore—her one hour was up.

There was a door several feet away from her that had been ripped off of its hinges; she snatched it up and ran for the railing, adrenaline giving her unnatural speed and strength.

She hurled the door over the side and hesitated at the railing. She should really say a prayer or something; didn’t people say prayers in this sort of situation?

“Holy Mother, I’m too young to die,” she finally said and leapt off the ship, into the frigid sea.


	86. Chapter 86

Ciel was dying.

Everything hurt. His butler had shoved a lifesaver over his body and had rudely tossed him into the ocean—he had wanted to go down with the ship, have a few more seconds to look for Eleanora.

Ciel had sunk through the ring and was now in the sea. He hadn’t started inhaling water yet, but the water was so cold…It felt like daggers stabbing into every millimeter of his skin.

For some reason, he kept on remembering Eleanora. She had said something once to him:

“Pain is good. Pain means that you’re alive. When you stop feeling pain, it means that you are dead.”

She had said that a week before her wedding to Sebastian. Ciel suddenly realized that she must have been in great agony then. He hadn’t thought about it before, but he remembered that she had always been so sad. She must have felt dead, then. She must have been so miserable that she didn’t feel anything.

He himself was starting to lose feeling in his toes and fingers. Did that mean that he was dying? But he didn’t want to die. He had survived so much throughout this night…It was ridiculous for him to die now! He refused to be conquered by a giant puddle of water!

His lungs were bursting; everything within him was screaming for him to breathe. He realized that he had to do something, so he opened his mouth to try and whisper something with his last breath:

“Sebas…”

Someone grabbed him by the back of his shirt and roughly yanked him back up, into the icy night—but at least it was air. He was thrown into a lifeboat and he knelt on its floor, coughing.

“Sebas…” he said, “Sebastian…”

The butler tossed his tailcoat over him. He looked absolutely horrible from all of the battles that he had fought—Ciel had never seen him look so bad.

There was a horrible moaning sound and they turned to look. The great cruise ship had broken in half and was now sinking rapidly. It disappeared in the sea in seconds.

There was silence on the lifeboat. Ciel cleared his throat and tightened the tailcoat around him.

“Well, then. That’s that.” He sighed in relief. No more living-dead people to deal with. “Sebastian, let’s head back to the rest of the survivors…”

Sebastian fell down onto his knees, staring in horror at the spot where the ship had sunk.

“Sebastian! What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I…I couldn’t…”

“You couldn’t what?” Ciel felt a surge of panic. Sebastian was so bloody, so weak…Was he going to die? But he couldn’t! Ciel would not allow that!

“Save her…” he whispered. “I couldn’t…I couldn’t save her…” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “She was right. She was right. And now she’s dead. And now I’ll never…Never…” He looked away.

Eleanora. Ciel had suddenly completely forgotten about Eleanora. He looked at where the ship had last been. Had she really been on it when it sank?...No. No, that was impossible. This was Eleanora. The woman cursed out shopkeepers who tried to cheat her. She would never allow herself to die in such a way.

“She’s…Maybe she’s still alive,” he said weakly, but he knew, deep down, that the odds of her survival…

She was married to a demon, but after all, she was still only a human.

Ciel bent his head down. Eleanora wouldn’t want him to cry—she would laugh at him for his weakness. He could already imagine what she would say:

“Come on, now! It’s just death. Nothing too scary—life is far scarier. And I’m not worth your tears. Don’t disappoint me by getting all sentimental—it’s disgusting.”

And she would smile and smile and smile and smile, always hiding her true feelings behind that one happy smile…

“Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry…”

But he could still almost hear her voice. He could almost hear her shouting…

“…”

Ciel looked up. What was that?

“…it…”

“Sebastian,” he said, but the butler was looking up as well, listening closely.

“…hit…”

The butler stood up and dove into the water again.

“Young Master, hold on to something!”

And then he started pushing the boat, his legs moving faster than they had ever moved before, moving quickly towards the person shouting.

“…hit…shit…Shit…SHIT…!”

Eleanora was in vast amounts of trouble. She had originally thought that all would be well—she had successfully jumped from the sinking ship, had found the door, and had just started to paddle towards the other lifeboats when she realized how quiet the night had become.

There had been other people who had jumped. She had heard them screaming from pain and fear and desperation to be saved. And now there was nothing.

Which meant that…

She realized what was happening just as the first undead sank its teeth into her leg.

And now she was standing on the door, desperately trying to keep her balance while simultaneously trying to shoot every undead bozo that was trying to rip her lungs out.

She was running out of ammunition. Worse, half of the guns that she had “borrowed” didn’t work anymore because they had gotten wet. She wouldn’t last very long—there were too many of them and too little of her—but she would be damned if she went without taking at least a third of them with her!

“Shit—Shit—Shit—Shit!”

“ELEANORA!”

“SHIT?!”

Someone grabbed her by the waist and threw her into a boat, where someone else grabbed her wrist.

“Eleanora! You’re alright!”

“Young Master! But what…But how…?”

“Hold on to something!” Sebastian shouted, standing above them both and brandishing an oar. “This might get a bit rough.”


	87. Chapter 87

The butler had not been exaggerating—the next half-hour was truly rough. Eleanora pressed her body over the young Master’s so that he would be protected—the butler was not as gentle as he would have liked to be, and the oar would occasionally smack against her back. And every now and then, the creatures would be too quick for him and they would try and devour her. Luckily, they never got very far in that endeavor.

The little lifeboat was rocking and heaving and Ciel was starting to feel a bit sick. Just when he was sure that he was going to vomit, everything stopped.

There was a pause, and then Eleanora slowly sat up, rubbing her sore and bleeding back. Ciel looked up as well—the boat was surrounded by twice-dead corpses.

“Is it…Is it…over?”

“It’s over,” Eleanora said. “It’s over!” She leapt to her feet. “Hot DAMN it’s OVER! And I’m ALIVE! I’m still ALIVE!”

Sebastian dropped the oar.

“…again…”

“What?” She turned to look at him. “What was that?”

“…again…Never again…”

“What are you say—”

She never finished her sentence, because Sebastian suddenly grabbed her and kissed her.

“Again,” he sighed when he released her, still cradling her head so that their foreheads were touching. “Never again…Never…Never scare me like that…ever again…”

“…Alright,” Eleanora said, dizzy and more than a little shocked. Sebastian smiled and leaned in, and at first she thought that he was going to kiss her again, when he sighed and collapsed onto his knees. “Hey! A-Are you alright?”

He groaned. He felt his body freezing up; he was losing quite a lot of blood. Eleanora looked up at Ciel.

“My Lord, help me…”

But Ciel had turned away in embarrassment after the kiss and was staring at the horizon.

“Look, the sun…”

The sky was slowly becoming lighter; light could be seen in the distance. And in the distance, they could see a rescue ship approaching.

Eleanora smiled upon seeing the ship. She had never been so happy to see a boat in her whole life—that ship meant safety and comfort and health; it meant that they were all alive; it meant that everything was alright now.

And as soon as she realized this, all of the exhaustion and pain and terror that she had repressed throughout the night came to her all at once and she fainted.


	88. Chapter 88

Nobody was much in the mood to continue on to New York after that hell trip; the rescue ship just took them all back to England. After Ciel had finished reuniting with his in-laws and fiancée, he went to look for his servants in the sea of survivors.

Sebastian had been clumsily wrapped up in bandages and was still rather battered and bruised. His skin was unnaturally white while his lips and fingertips were blue. He still looked worse than he had ever looked before, but he was smiling and his arm was wrapped around the unconscious Eleanora, who was on his chest. She was also wrapped in bandages and was starting to run a fever. Ciel hoped that they could arrive in England quickly—he himself was starting to feel a bit ill.

Once they were back in Phantomhive Manor, Madam Red called a doctor for Ciel and Eleanora and an unholy one for Sebastian, and soon all three were lying in their respective rooms, trying to recover.

Eleanora had it worse of all. Not only did everything in her whole damn body hurt, the butler was being even weirder than usual. The unholy doctor had said that he had what was called a “cold fever,” so he might have deliriums, but he had never said anything about the butler suddenly screaming, saying that she was dead and not calming down until she entered the room. Or her waking up in the middle of the night and seeing the butler sitting on her stomach, staring at her with horrible, glassy eyes.

It became clear that Sebastian was not going to recover unless Eleanora was with him 24/7, which didn’t do much to help her recovery, but as Madam Red said:

“Once he gets better, he can help heal you! Wouldn’t that be nice?”

Eleanora would’ve rather faced a cruise ship full of zombies again—even alone and unarmed—than have the butler play doctor for her.

But she had to admit that he truly was getting better. His body started warming up again and his lips returned to their normal color. He could now sleep peacefully and wouldn’t wake up in the night, panicked and thinking that Eleanora had died.

He became fully lucid in a week, and could hold conversations and instruct the servants what to do. Everything was on track to return to normal—only Sebastian couldn’t help but feel awkward around Eleanora.

Every time she came near him, he felt himself blushing and was always inclined to look away.

“Does she remember?” he always thought. “Does she remember that kiss?”

And of course he couldn’t ask her, because asking her would mean that he remembered it, and if she didn’t remember it, and he brought it up, that would signal to her that 1. They had kissed, and 2. It was still on his mind, both of which were rather large no-no’s.

“But does she remember it?” he continued thinking. It was agony not to know. If she remembered it, had she liked it? Was it on her mind just as much as it was on his’? Maybe she was aching—craving—longing for another one? Maybe she wanted another one—right NOW?

“Hold on,” Eleanora said, “your nose is bleeding.”

She gave a handkerchief to Sebastian and looked away. Once again, her mind wandered back to that kiss.

“Does he remember it?...No, probably not; he was so sick afterwards; besides, he probably hadn’t meant it; it was just a combination of relief and sickness that resulted in a sudden display of emotion…”

It was ridiculous to bring it up. It was ridiculous to even think about it. Naturally he didn’t remember it, and even if he did remember it, he probably wasn’t caring about it. He would probably laugh at her for being such a silly human—putting such thought into such a tiny, insignificant little thing like a kiss. So she wouldn’t bring it up. What kiss? What’s a kiss? She wasn’t even aware of such things.

“I want to kiss her again,” Sebastian thought, watching her boil some water at the fireplace in his room for some tea. “I want to kiss her again…”

The feeling surprised him—no, it embarrassed him. He was a demon—he shouldn’t be feeling something as saccharine as that. Besides, they had already kissed enough: once at their first wedding, once at their second wedding, and now this. That was what—three times? That was more than enough for one lifetime!

He recalled his words to her before, on that first day on that ship. That’s right; he hated her. He hated her very, very much. He would always hate her. He married her for…For…For what, exactly? Certainly not for love…He couldn’t have married her for love!

Then why did he agree to the matri verum? He couldn’t remember, but he must have had a good reason to…Not love. He did not marry her for love. He hated her. He had to remember that. He hated her, hated her, hated her…

But then she turned around and asked him a question in her soft, slightly melodious voice and Sebastian felt his determination to hate slipping away from him. It wasn’t fair. She hated him but he was starting to think that maybe he didn’t really hate her…If women wanted hate, why did they make it so easy to love them?


	89. Chapter 89

Ciel had been incredibly ill after that trip, but after he had recovered, he immediately wanted to go to that first hospital where the Aurora Society had started out—the place that had started it all.

Sebastian shot it down immediately, which Ciel thought wasn’t very obliging of him.

“My Lord, we barely got off that ship alive. And now you want to go right back into another nest of them?”

“I want to know more—no, I need to know more!”

“You’re not going.”

“I most certainly am!”

Then the butler gave him a very dark look which made Ciel rethink his life decisions.

“...Can I go, please?”

“No.”

Sebastian was not in a listening mood, and he was definitely not in a cooperating mood. So Ciel had to resort to other, sneakier means:

“Eleanora,” he said when the maid arrived with his afternoon tea, “how much do you love Sebastian?”

Eleanora immediately looked up in alarm. Shit, she had almost forgotten—the kid had also seen that damned kiss.

“…Why do you ask?” she finally said, keeping her voice as calm as possible.

“Do you love him enough to happily spend an evening all alone with him?”

“What? My Lord, where are you going with this?”

Ciel leaned back in his seat.

“I’ve convinced Grell to be my butler for an evening. We’re going to go and explore that Aurora Society hospital.”

Eleanora was silent for a few minutes. And then she said some things, most of which can’t be written down, but the main gist of her speech was, “WHY?!?!”

“Because I want to close this case—close it completely. And I can’t do that if I run away from the source of information.”

“Send the butler to do it and stay here.”

“He won’t do it.”

“Order him to!”

“I tried. He said that putting himself in danger is a violation of the contract—he can only do an order if he knows for sure that he’ll survive through it.”

“Damn demon,” Eleanora muttered under her breath.

“I agree,” Ciel said, which made Eleanora blush at being heard, “but I have no choice: I have to sneak away and leave Sebastian behind, and he can’t know where I am.”

“But why me? Why don’t you make Grell keep him occupied and I can go with you?”

“Because Sebastian can’t stand Grell. He’d lock her up in a cellar and go to check on me and once he sees that I’m gone, he’ll blow several hundred gaskets.”

“But…But…He can’t stand me either!”

“You remember that kiss?”

Eleanora got a cold feeling in her stomach.

“…What kiss?” she said innocently.

“When we were all on the lifeboat, Sebastian was so happy to see you that he kissed you. You remember that?”

Eleanora’s blush increased.

“…I might remember something along those lines,” she mumbled.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but that proves to me that he likes you. Or, at least, he doesn’t hate you as much as he hates other people, which implies to me that he wouldn’t mind spending an evening with you.”

“So what exactly do you want me to do?”

“Just keep Sebastian distracted for one night—do whatever it takes to keep him occupied.”

“What—you mean like dance like a whore, give him unhealthy amounts of wine, jump into the Thames and make him save me?”

“I said to do whatever it takes.”

“God help me,” she said, looking away.

“So you’ll do it then?”

“My Lord,” Eleanora said, giving him a wide-eyed, half-terrified look, “do I have to?”

“Yes, you do.” Eleanora closed her eyes and placed her hands over her face. “Pleeeeeze?”

“Alright, fine. But I’d better get compensated for this—and I mean compensated.”

“If you do this for me, I’ll buy you a whole store full of chocolates.”

Eleanora licked her lips.

“Gourmet?”

“The finest—straight from Belgium.”

“My Lord,” Eleanora said, grinning, “you really do know the way to a lady’s heart.”

That night, a half-hour after Sebastian had helped the young Master to retire, Grell snuck into Ciel’s room and got him dressed again. Eleanora was waiting outside the room.

“Are you ready?” Ciel asked her.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” she sighed. “I’ll go downstairs—he’s in the kitchen. You sneak out in fifteen minutes. Okay?”

“Good,” Ciel said and Eleanora left.

“I still don’t see why I couldn’t distract Bassy for a night,” Grell said. “I’m so much more attractive than any other human woman.”

“I told you—you give Eleanora this night, and I’ll give you Sebastian for a week.”

Grell grinned at this exciting prospect.

“I think I’ll make him take me to a beach. Sebastian in a bathing suit—oooh!”

“I…did not need—or want—to know that.”

Eleanora peeked into the kitchen. Sebastian was cleaning up after dinner—the other servants had already gone to bed.

“Well, this is it,” she thought and took a deep breath. “M-Mr. Michaelis?”

Sebastian paused in his work and looked over his shoulder.

“Oh—Miss Black.” He went back to the dishes. “Can I help you in some way?”

“Uh…No. That is, I was just wondering if I might help you?”

“Thank you, but I’m already finished,” Sebastian said as he placed the last clean dish away. He leaned against the counter and looked at her. “Shouldn’t you be asleep? You’re still recuperating from that cruise, you know.”

“I know, but I feel so much better. Maybe it’s because of your superior nursing skills…” She gave him a big smile and blinked twice.

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. ‘Superior nursing skills?’ Well, he had taken care of her when he had felt able to get out of bed and move around…He had made her soup and had changed her bandages…Piddling things like that—and she thought that they were superior?

Eleanora suppressed a shudder as he smiled at her. She still had nightmares about him being her doctor—giving her a sponge bath and shit like that. But she had to press on, even though she didn’t really know what she was doing, or how she was going to adequately distract him. She hoped that the young Master and Grell had already left.

Indeed they had—in fact, they were already on the manor lawn when Grell suddenly stopped.

“My death scythe! I forgot my death scythe!”

“Well, can’t you get on without it for a night?”

“NEVER! I must have my death scythe! I’ll just run back and get it.”

“NO! I’ll get it. I’m smaller than you—Sebastian probably won’t notice me skulking around. And if he sees you trying to get your death scythe, he’ll get suspicious. Don’t go anywhere—I’ll be right back.”

So saying, Ciel turned and ran back to the manor.

Meanwhile, Sebastian had sidled up to Eleanora and was running his hands up and down her arms, still smiling. Eleanora had never seen a sleazier person in her life, but she still forced herself to keep smiling, keep flattering; praise everything and anything…

“What else?” he kept on asking. “What else?”

Eleanora had run out of compliments about his cooking, cleaning, and hygienic skills; she was forced to start talking about important things.

“And,” she said, forcing herself to touch his chest with her fingertips, “and…And you’re just always so…strong…”

His eyes gleamed with demonic fire.

“…and so…so…brave…”

Sebastian kept moving closer to her.

“What else?” he whispered. “And what else?”

“And so…so…”

Eleanora stopped tracing her fingers up his neck, which irked him. She was now finding something exceedingly interesting going on behind him, which really irritated him. Just right when they were getting somewhere—right when things were getting interesting…

“Eleanora?” he asked, daring to use her real name. “Eleanora? Is something wrong?”

He tried turning his head to look, but she suddenly gasped and turned his head back to her.

“NO! That is, nothing’s wrong…Absolutely nothing…”

She laughed and gave him a coy grin. Sebastian felt his annoyance dissipating and his demonic instincts rising up again. He put his arms around her waist and brought her closer to him. She continued smiling and gently touched his face.

“Eleanora…”

“S-Sebastian…”

She had used his real name. He had never been happier in his whole life; he felt as if his feet could just leave the ground and he could fly away…

“Eleanora,” he said and he suddenly pulled her even closer to him; his demonic instincts were at their peak; this was it; he was definitely going to kiss her—

There was a clattering sound behind him, as if something had fallen.

“What—”

He turned to look, but at that moment, Eleanora seized his head and violently kissed him.

Sebastian’s body immediately relaxed; his euphoria reached an unprecedented level. He gathered her up and deepened the kiss; her lips parted and he slid his tongue into her mouth.

Sebastian wished that this moment could stretch into eternity, but eventually Eleanora pulled away from him, smiling and blushing and panting a bit.

“S-Sebastian…”

“Eleanora!” Sebastian said and tried to kiss her again. She darted away from his arms and whirled around playfully.

“No, no, not here,” she said, winking. “Someone might see…”

“Ohh…” Sebastian smirked back at her. “Well, then…shall we go to my room?”

Eleanora laughed and forced back a scream. She had just come up with a plan of distraction—she just really, really hated it.

“When the young Master comes back,” she thought as the butler closed his bedroom door behind them, “I’m going to demand two stores of gourmet chocolate—and a pony.”

Grell was still waiting on the front lawn.

“Well? Did you get it?”

“Yes, I got it,” Ciel panted, handing over the scissors.

“What happened to you? Are you alright?”

“Sebas-Sebastian almost saw me, but Eleanora stopped him.”

“How could he have almost seen you?”

“I tripped,” he said sheepishly, but then he was back in control. “But enough of this. Come on—we only have an evening.”

“I wonder what Eleanora’s doing to distract him,” Grell said as they left the manor property.

“I don’t know,” Ciel said. “Maybe they’re playing chess or something.”


	90. Chapter 90

It was very interesting to see how three different servants responded differently to the exact same situation. If Ciel had taken Sebastian, he would have just broken down the door and kill anyone who would have distracted him from his goal. If he had taken Eleanora, she would have fallen back and devised a plan—strategy over brawn.

Grell’s method was to walk straight into the hospital, check into the front desk, and spend several minutes wandering around aimlessly in the hallways, flirting with the occasional doctor.

“Can we hurry this up, please?” Ciel finally asked. “We’re kind of on schedule, here.”

“Relax,” Grell said. “I’ve got everything under control!”

“Really? Then can you find me information on the Aurora Society?”

“Certainly! All we have to do is find the Records Room.”

“And…Do you know where this room is?”

“I will in a bit,” Grell said and stopped another doctor. “Excuse me, but can you tell me where the Records Room is?”

The doctor gave them directions and then Ciel had to practically drag Grell away from him.

“Now, focus. It took us too long to get here, and it’ll take us too long to get back, and we need to be back before morning.”

“But…What exactly are we even looking for?”

“How many times must I tell you? Information on the Aurora Society!”

Grell’s eyes rolled, but Ciel was already opening and rifling through file cabinets. Eventually Grell started doing the same.

They searched for as many hours as they could before stopping.

“Any luck?” Ciel asked.

“None whatsoever,” Grell said, looking around the room. “And I’m pretty sure we searched everywhere. Do you suppose we have the wrong hospital? Or the wrong room?”

“No—I think that this whole thing was a big waste of time,” Ciel sighed. “Think about it: why would they let us just walk through a hospital after hours? Why did nobody question us wandering around? And why has nobody stopped us from looking through all of these files?”

“…Disgruntled employees…?”

“…It’s because there’s nothing here, Grell. Anything so much as hinting to the Aurora Society has either been moved or destroyed—it’s probably the first thing the Society did when they realized how much in trouble they were. Come on, let’s go home.”

“Oh,” Grell said. “I’m sorry, Master Ciel.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Ciel shrugged. “I should have anticipated this. I only hope that Eleanora is doing alright.”


	91. Chapter 91

Eleanora was not a virgin.

That is to say, she had had intimacy with other men before. She was familiar with the routine; she knew what to do.

Except in this case, that is.

It was incredibly strange. She had never had intimacy like this before. It was strange and powerful and pervasive—completely unlike the raucous nights she had had before. There was no rowdiness or anything really loud and obnoxious and painful—completely unlike what she had expected. She had always thought that demons were really into chains and whips and things.

Instead, it was deep and intense and passionate. There were no hidden acts in it, no feeling of a one-night stand, absolutely no strings attached; it is what it is.

Eleanora had heard that intimacy is the purest form of love, but she had never believed it until now. That was really the best way to describe it: pure.

She was, quite simply, being overrun and caressed with pure adoration.

About halfway through, he told her that he loved her.

She excused herself to go to the bathroom. When she was there, she threw up.


	92. Chapter 92

Ciel Phantomhive was a very, very busy man. Currently, he was trying to balance a pen perfectly on one of his fingers. It was difficult because his hand kept on shaking, no matter how still he tried to keep it.

Normally he wouldn’t spend so much time on such a mundane activity, but he was feeling a bit unhappy after last night’s failure. He had spent most of the night awake and he hadn’t discovered anything—what an enormous waste of time!

He was just about to gripe to Eleanora when she came in with his tea, but decided against it upon seeing her face.

She looked awful. Her eyes were bleary and bloodshot and she had dark circles underneath them and her neck was covered in bruises.

“What happened to you?” Ciel asked before he could restrain himself. “Did you get hit by a train? What happened?”

“Your butler happened,” she said sourly.

“What—did he…choke you?”

“Oh, you mean the bruises? No. It’s not just on my neck; there’s more on my back and stomach…” She saw his expression and cleared her throat.

“But…what happened? How’d you get so many of the awful things?”

“My Lord,” she said awkwardly. “They’re…well…They’re love bites.”

“Oh,” Ciel said. “So he bit you?”

“You’ll understand when you’re older,” Eleanora said and then Sebastian walked in.

“My Lord! Good morning!”

Ciel blinked and briefly considered calling the police. Who was this strange man? He looked like Sebastian and he was dressed like Sebastian—but it couldn’t possibly have been Sebastian.

For one thing, this man was smiling. No, not smiling—beaming. And it wasn’t his usual smiles: not his evil demon smirk, or his little mocking leer, or his annoying innocent smile, or that stupid grin he got whenever he saw a cat. No, this was a genuine beam. Ciel had never seen his butler look so happy—he was positively radiant. Ciel could almost see the good vibes flowing from him.

“You’ve already gotten the tea?” Sebastian asked, looking at the tray. “Excellent! Perfect. Just wonderful.”

And he smiled.

Meanwhile, Ciel was still staring at him as if he belonged in the closest lunatic asylum. Eleanora just looked tired.

“Anyway, you rang for me, my Lord?”

“Er…Yes…It’s about these new numbers for Funtom…”

“Certainly!”

Ciel had never seen his butler so enthusiastic about numbers before. In fact, he had never seen his butler look so enthusiastic about anything. To be frank, he hadn’t even known that his butler could even be enthusiastic.

Eleanora finished preparing his tea and then she went away silently. Sebastian watched her go, smiling softly.

“She’s magnificent, isn’t she?” he sighed when she closed the door behind her.

“She’s…er…what?”

“Glorious. Brilliant. Flawless. Pick an adjective.”

“…Are you feeling alright?”

“My Lord,” he said, turning that smile to Ciel, “I’ve never been better!”

Sebastian’s good mood refused to dissipate. He remained as strangely cheerful and pleasant for the whole morning. He wasn’t even upset when the cook and the gardener accidentally burned down the garden again.

The servants were all outside fixing the ruined plants and the young Master was lying down in his room because he had a headache, leaving Eleanora all alone in the kitchen to make lunch. As she was cooking, she felt somebody touch her hips and then slide closer to her.

“Eleanora,” Sebastian cooed and he kissed her neck.

“Yes?” she said tiredly.

“Do you remember what we did last night?”

“How could I forget?”

“I can’t stop thinking about it…”

“Neither can I.”

“Lady?”

“What?”

He turned her around, smiling.

“Shall we do it again tonight?”

She blinked.

“…What?”

“I said, shall we do it again tonight?”

“Oh,” she said and forced a small laugh. “I’d love to; you know that I would, but last night really took it out of me and so I thought that tonight I’d just catch up on my sleep...”

“We wouldn’t have to do it all night like last night. We can just do it for half the night, and then you can sleep for the rest of the evening.”

He licked his lips, his eyes already turning pink.

“I…don’t think so.”

“Oh? Why not? Didn’t you like it? Didn’t you enjoy it?”

“Well…”

His pouty face was slowly turning into a confused one.

“You mean…you didn’t like it?”

Eleanora was then, quite literally, saved by the bell. The young Master was ringing for a servant.

“I’LL GET IT!!” she said in a far-too-eager voice and practically ran for the upstairs, leaving Sebastian standing alone in the kitchen. That excited, happy feeling in his stomach was slowly fading away, leaving behind something that didn’t feel half as nice.

“She did enjoy it…didn’t she?”


	93. Chapter 93

Unfortunately for Eleanora, Grell had told Madam Red all about the evening, and now both of them wanted details about what she had been doing with Sebastian. And they didn’t want just details, they wanted DETAILS.

“Come on!” Madam Red said in her room. “DETAILS! Give us the DETAILS!”

“Yes,” Grell said, lounging on the floor and half-glaring, half-staring at Eleanora. “And leave absolutely none of them out!”

“Leave nothing out, Eleanora!”

“Keep every single disgusting, nitty-gritty DETAIL in there!”

“Leave absolutely everything in!”

“Okay, go!”

“WAIT!”

“What’s wrong?”

“We need nourishment! This is going to be an all-night conversation! Grell, go and get as many snacks as possible. Eleanora, tea. And I’ll be making this old room friendlier!”

The servants returned a half-hour later, carrying enough food and drink to last a week, and discovered that Madam Red had converted the room to some kind of Persian palace, with pillows and blankets everywhere to ensure maximum comfort.

“Now then,” she said, helping herself to a sandwich, “now you can begin!”

“And leave absolutely nothing out!”

“Alright,” Eleanora said, feeling more awkward than she had ever felt in her life. She was unaccustomed to sitting down and eating in front of a lady, and even more unaccustomed to talking about her intimate life. “Well, we were in the kitchen…”

“What time?”

“Oh, I don’t know…Maybe around eleven?”

“Who was in the kitchen first? You or him?”

“H-He was…”

“And what was he doing?”

“Washing the dishes…”

“How long was he washing the dishes?”

“He finished fairly quickly…”

“How long did it take him?”

“Like…Two minutes, maybe…?”

“Did you say something to him?”

And so it went on.

And on.

And on.

And on.

And on. An hour had passed before she was even able to get to the good part.

“So…”

“So?!” Madam Red and Grell said breathlessly, hanging on to her every word.

“So…So I lay down on the bed and he took his shirt off…”

“Ohh…” Grell groaned.

“And then he sat down next to me and he pulled off my stockings.”

“How’d he do that?”

“Well, first he undid my garters with his teeth…”

“OooohHHHHhhh…”

“And then he just slid the stockings off.”

“Also with his teeth?”

“No, he took his gloves off and used his bare hands.”

“OOOOOOooooohHHHHHHhhh!!!”

Eleanora shuffled around uncomfortably and ate another cookie.

“Don’t stop! Don’t stop! Don’t stop for any reason! Just keep going!”

“So then he started pulling my top down…”

“AAAAAAAOOOOOOOOKKKKKGGGGHHHHH!!!”

“Please stop! That’s very distracting!”

“Sorry,” Grell said, biting into a pillow. “Sorry. I just can’t help it—but keep going!”

“And then he unlaced my corset.”

“How’d he do that?”

“Just with his fingers, like a normal person.”

“So…There was a break while he undid your corset?”

“No—he started kissing my neck at that point. And when he took my corset off, he ran his lips down my back…”

Eleanora’s description went on for about three hours, with interruptions. By the end of those hours, Grell had chewed her way through seven pillows.

Once she had finished, and there was nothing else to say, the women were all silent for a few minutes.

“…Wow,” Madam Red finally said. “Just…Just…Wow.”

“I can’t stand it,” Grell moaned. “I just can’t stand it! It should have been meee…”

“Next time, it can be your turn,” Eleanora said, resisting the urge to fall asleep. Damn, she was tired…

“And you’re sure that’s everything?” Madam Red said. “You’re positive? You left absolutely nothing out?”

“Yes…No! I just remembered something else!”

“What? What?! WHAT?!”

“Well…It’s a bit embarrassing…”

“We’re all ladies here! More than that, we’re all women! Full disclosure now, never tell anyone else ever again! Come on, what is it?!”

“Well…Somewhere during the middle of it…Right in the heart of it, I mean…”

“Yes? Yes?”

“He suddenly stopped and he rolled me over and he looked at me seriously and he said that…”

“He said what? He said WHAT?!”

“He said that he loved me.”

Madam Red and Grell stared at her.

“…He said that he…loved you?”

“Yes. In all seriousness.”

“But that’s…But that’s wonderful!” Madam Red tackled Eleanora in a hug while Grell looked as if she wanted to kill her. “This is the best news I have heard in a long time!”

“But…But what does it mean?”

“It means that he loves you! It means that he really, genuinely, wholeheartedly, uncompromisingly, unconditionally loves you!”

“…That’s impossible,” Eleanora said. “He’s a demon. He can’t love, and he certainly can’t love me.”

“But he just told you that he did!”

“Well…Maybe he was lying!”

“Men don’t lie about things like that,” Madam Red said. “Women can, easily, but men can’t. Something always gives them away when they try to lie about love.”

“Nonsense. Men have said that they love a woman when it turns out that they didn’t.”

“That just means that the woman was too idiotic to recognize the signs. Men just don’t lie about love.”

“But he’s a demon, which means he’s not a real ‘man,’ which means that he can still lie about it!”

“Well, we can table this discussion for now,” Madam Red sighed and leaned in. “But what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you love him?”

“NO!” Grell said quickly.

Eleanora didn’t answer immediately; she bit her lip and looked away.

“I don’t know,” she finally said.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean that I don’t know.”

“It’s a simple yes-or-no question, Eleanora!”

“But I really don’t know the answer.” She looked away again. “Sometimes…Sometimes I think that he’s not that bad. But then he just goes and does something that makes me so furious, and then I hate him. But then he does something else that makes him seem almost human…But then he goes and does something demonic again…” She groaned and buried her head into her knees. “I really just don’t know how I feel about him. That’s really all I can say—that’s the best way that I can explain it.”

“But…But you must love him a little bit!”

“What makes you say that?”

“If you didn’t love him, you wouldn’t have slept with him, right?”

“Men take intimacy so seriously, it’s weird. Women don’t treat it nearly as important as men do.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You just said that a woman can easily lie about love. So, by that logic, a woman can easily lie about intimacy as well.”

“So…So you didn’t do it because you wanted to?”

“The young Master ordered me to distract him, and so I did.”

“But…But there must be a reason as to why you chose that approach!”

“Do you honestly think I sexed him because I love him?” Eleanora said coldly.

There was a smashing sound behind her. She whirled around and her heart stopped.

Sebastian was standing in the doorway.

He had been carrying a tray with more tea, which he had accidentally dropped. He silently knelt down and began picking up the shattered china.

“Oh, shit,” Eleanora said, staggering to her feet. “Oh, shit; Sebastian…Sebastian, I’m sorry…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it…I just…Just…”

He rose up again, the broken tea-things on his tray, and then he walked back down the hallway, not moving faster or slower; not looking at anyone; not saying anything.

Just walking.


	94. Chapter 94

Ciel had no idea what was wrong or what had happened, but Sebastian had suddenly burst into his study and said that it was time for him to retire, which it most certainly wasn’t. He should have had another hour at least, but when he opened his mouth to protest, his butler just lunged for him, tucked him underneath his arm, and took him to his room against his will. And once they were in his room, Ciel was prepared to retire faster than he had ever been before and then dumped into his bed. Sebastian then walked out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

That was the weirdest part of the whole thing—Sebastian hadn’t looked or acted angry at all. His face had been calm—almost serene—throughout the forced bedtime process, and he never slammed a drawer or behaved roughly with him out of anger.

Which only confused Ciel even more as he lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. If his butler wasn’t angry, why was he acting so strangely?

Eleanora found Sebastian in his room, lying on the bed and staring up at the ceiling. She had knocked, but he hadn’t answered. The door, however, was unlocked, so she took a liberty and went in anyway.

“Hello,” she said quietly. He didn’t answer her; didn’t even look at her as she approached. “Um…How much did you hear?”

“Right around the part where you told the Madam that I had said that I loved you.”

Eleanora sucked in one of her cheeks. That was quite a lot of listening in to regrettably-incriminating parts.

“…Look…That is to say, listen…”

“There’s nothing left to say,” he said, rolling over onto his side, still not looking at her. “You don’t love me. That’s it.”

“I’m…really, really, really sorry…”

“Sorry for what? Sorry that you don’t love me? Sorry that you said those things? Sorry that you got caught saying those things?”

“…Yes to all?”

“I don’t care anymore,” he said, still speaking in an eerily composed voice. “I just don’t care.”

“You don’t care about what?”

“About anything. About you, about our relationship…I’m so tired of it, Eleanora. I’m tired of playing this ridiculous marriage game which will inevitably lead to nothing. It seems that with every step we take forward, we take three steps backwards. If we continue down this road, then, mathematically speaking, we will still get to nothing. So I’m giving up. I just don’t care anymore. Go do what you want. Go say what you want. Do anything you please, just leave me out of it.”

The telephone rang and he rose up to answer it.

“We tried at this,” he said in passing, “and it didn’t work. So I’m quitting now before I get hurt some more.”

“Sebastian, I’m so, so sorry…”

“Good evening, Miss Black,” he said and left the room.

Eleanora stood there for a few minutes in shock. Then she realized that she had no business being in a butler’s room all alone, so she went out just in time to catch Sebastian on his return trip to his room.

“That was Lady Elizabeth just now,” he said, still with a blank expression, still with a calm tone. “Her maid is sick, but she wants to go to London and she wanted to know if you’d be available as a replacement. Naturally I’d told her that you’ll be delighted to assist in her shopping. You leave early tomorrow morning.”

Eleanora would normally have protested this, but she decided that now was not the time to do so. She just nodded and stepped aside to let him pass.

It was so strange how these things progressed so quickly. Yesterday she had been loved. And now she was an absolute stranger.

She didn’t know which one was worse.


	95. Chapter 95

The day with Lady Elizabeth was not as saccharine as Eleanora had predicted—all she really had to do was carry the shopping bags and occasionally advise the girl on what to buy. Easiest job she had ever taken.

The best part was that it had taken the whole day. Eleanora had just seen Sebastian once, in the morning, and he had behaved coolly indifferent to her—just like the old days, before they had gotten married—before he had tortured her, before she had been bound to Phantomhive.

Before her second wedding, she would have done anything to return to those days of mutual tolerance and acceptance. But now she wasn’t so sure. She had been kissed for goodness’ sakes. And every woman knows how difficult it is to return to the status quo once one has been kissed.

She wasn’t too anxious to return to Phantomhive—actually, she would have been perfectly happy to not have gone back to Phantomhive at all. She sat in the carriage, dreading the return and only listening to the Lady with half an ear. She had bought some kind of blue ring for Ciel in some kind of sleazy store and was gushing over it.

They reached a spot of traffic—construction on the Underground, probably. Nothing too major; over in a bit. Eleanora hid a yawn behind her hand and realized that she hadn’t heard the Lady speak in two minutes.

Elizabeth loved talking, so her being silent meant one of two things: she was either upset, or in trouble. And when Eleanora looked around the carriage and noticed that the door was open, she immediately assumed the worst.

She got out of the carriage, quickly paid the driver, and ran off into the night, calling for the Lady. She hadn’t gone very far when she noticed a toy shop in the distance.

Toy shops aren’t at all rare in London—in fact, they’re as widespread as the common garden rock—but this toy shop was unique in that it had a man with an unconscious Lady Elizabeth slung over his shoulder.

“HEY!” Eleanora shouted and ran for the shop. “HEY! STOP! STOP AT ONCE!”

She flew through the door and tried kicking the man down. It didn’t work, mostly because when her foot came into contact with his back, she realized that there was something wrong.

Most people’s backs are slightly soft and fleshy. This is considered normal.

This man’s back was strange and hard, like kicking a lump of iron.

“Damn!”

It is unknown what Eleanora meant by this particular “damn”—even she didn’t really know why she had said it. Perhaps it was due to the shock of feeling a non-human back against her foot.

Or maybe it was because the man who was kidnapping the Lady was uncommonly handsome.  
His hair was a light rust color; his eyes were a beautiful amethyst; his skin was pearly and flawless, like porcelain. His movements were strange and jerky, so Eleanora figured that she could take him on and win. She sprang to her feet and tried kicking him again, this time in the face.

She didn’t know how it happened, but he was able to dodge the kick and appear suddenly behind her. He chopped the back of her neck with his hand and she fell unconscious into his arms.

Sebastian received the phone call a few minutes after he received the letter. He took both upstairs to his young Master.

“Elizabeth’s disappeared?” Ciel asked.

“Yes—and so has Eleanora,” he grudgingly added as an afterthought.

“Well, then, we’d better go find her—them, I mean.”

“First you should look at this.”

Ciel opened the letter and quickly read it—it was about a new case regarding young, kidnapped girls.

“Do you suppose that…that Elizabeth is one of the victims?”

“Possibly, my Lord,” Sebastian said, only he didn’t really see how Eleanora could also have been a victim—she was hardly a girl of twelve.

“Alright then,” Ciel sighed and stood up. “Sebastian, your orders: go and find any information on the kidnapped girls. Question everyone who knew them and compile a suspect list. Understood?”

“Perfectly, sir.”

“Good. Meanwhile, I have business of my own to attend to.”

Sebastian nodded and disappeared into the night. His heart was beating quickly, though he didn’t know if it was out of fear or irritation—probably irritation.

“That…WOMAN!” he thought as he ran. “I tell her to do whatever she wants, and what does she immediately do? Go and get into trouble!”

But, really, wasn’t that always the way with humans?


	96. Chapter 96

Ciel had brought Pluto with him at Sebastian’s insistence—and somehow, Grell was able to tag along—and the dog had soon brought him to an out-of-the-way toy shop. Normally, Ciel wouldn’t have cared at all about a toy shop (unless it was selling his own products), but this one was interesting because it had two dolls in its front window: the first one looked exactly like Elizabeth. The second one was a bit harder to notice, as it was on top of a music box, but it featured a little doll that looked exactly like Eleanora, dancing with another doll that looked like a man who Ciel didn’t recognize—a man with rust-red hair and dressed in blue.

Upon entering the shop, Ciel quickly found a back door which led to a fairy-tale-like mansion—undoubtedly, Elizabeth and Eleanora were inside.

He didn’t hesitate for a second; he strode into the mansion, with the dog and the red butler following him.

It hadn’t taken Sebastian very long to learn everything that the young Master had asked him to, and it had taken him even less time to find the toy shop in question. He, like Ciel had done before him, had peeked into the shop window before entering the shop itself. Unlike Ciel, he had picked out the little doll that looked like Eleanora immediately, and only noticed the Elizabeth-doll later.

He went inside the shop and picked up the music box with the dancing figures. He wound it up and “London Bridge” started to play. The tiny Eleanora doll and the tiny man spun around on the lid.

Sebastian didn’t wait for the song to finish playing; he snapped off the two figures and held them up close to his eyes. Yes, the woman-doll was definitely Eleanora…but she was wearing a fancy blue ball-gown instead of her normal maid attire. He didn’t recognize the man at all, but he hated the way that he held the Eleanora. He carefully pried the two apart and tossed the male doll into the nearby stove and watched it melt with satisfaction. He didn’t know what to do with the Eleanora doll—he didn’t want to just toss it away into the fire, but he didn’t really want it to exist, either.

So he found a small box, found a soft black cloth, wrapped the doll in the cloth, put the doll into the box, and then he gave the box a proper cremation in the stove.

There, that was over with. He rose up from watching the fire and went out the back door and found the mansion.

He gave it a quick, demonic once-over—the young Master was inside, as well as some soul he didn’t recognize. There was a tower in the distance; he ran towards it.

For some reason, Grell and the dog were standing in front of it, as if waiting for someone. Grell was having difficulty restraining the dog; it kept on trying to run for the door.

The tower itself had another unrecognizable soul inside it. Sebastian turned to leave and search the mansion when he suddenly saw it out of the corner of his eye:

Eleanora’s soul was inside the tower.

But why was it so faint? What had happened to her?

Well, at least she still had some strength; if she was on the verge of death, he wouldn’t have been able to catch it. But where was the Lady Elizabeth?

He ran back to the mansion to search for her.

Meanwhile, the Lady Elizabeth was on a table in a room inside the tower. She was incredibly weak—so weak that Sebastian hadn’t been able to sense her at such a distance. She didn’t move at all while the man in blue started working on her.

The man himself was so focused on his work that he didn’t notice Eleanora until she had slapped his head with a poker.

He was absolutely unfazed as he turned around; Eleanora lifted it up to hit him again when she stumbled and fell down.

He caught her and held her close. She had fainted from weakness, and she had every right to:

Her soft human body was slowly turning into one of silver and gold.

“You—shouldn’t—have—done—that,” the man said in a strange, jerky voice. “It’s—not—good—for—you—to—move—around—so—my—fair—lady.”

He picked her up and placed her on another table, waiting for the process to become complete. Next to the table was an unfinished wedding dress.

“We—are—very—very—lucky—my—lady,” the man said to the unconscious Eleanora. “My—master—has—given—me—permission—to—marry—you. It’s—not—every—day—that—one—meets—such—a—beauty.”

He kissed her on the lips and went back to Lady Elizabeth, humming “London Bridge” under his breath.


	97. Chapter 97

Sebastian was waiting for Ciel at the mansion. He had searched the place top to bottom and hadn’t found any trace of Elizabeth.

Which meant, of course, just one thing: she was in the tower with Eleanora.

Ciel had been rather upset that Sebastian hadn’t searched the tower immediately, but then again, he also would have been upset if he hadn’t searched the mansion immediately either. Being a butler was a lose-lose situation more often than not.

They rendezvoused with Grell and Pluto at the base of the tower, and soon all four of them were running up the stairs, in search of the missing persons.

They found both of them in a workshop at the very top.

Elizabeth was sitting on a chair, her eyes strange and dead with her skin unnaturally smooth and cold to the touch. Eleanora was lying on a work table, wearing a white wedding dress, complete with veil and a bouquet of roses.

Ciel kneeled in front of Elizabeth and tried shaking her awake while Sebastian and Grell attempted to revive Eleanora.

Sebastian had a horrible growing sensation that made his heart feel weak and dead—fear. He had never seen Eleanora’s soul so weak before…

“Eleanora…Eleanora! Wake up! ELEANORA!”

Eleanora mumbled an irritated swear word and turned her face away.

Sebastian almost collapsed from relief. At least she hadn’t lost her attitude problems.

“Eleanora, wake up! Wake up! Look where you are! Look at what they’ve done to you!”

He didn’t really know who “they” were, but he did know that someone had done something to her.

Eleanora’s eyes weakly fluttered open. She stared first at Sebastian, then at Grell. She flung her arm over her face, as if to hide from the horrible sight, and then she stared at her hand—inhuman and wearing a lacy white wedding glove.

“Well,” she said weakly, “shit.”

She closed her eyes again and then she suddenly sat up and grabbed Sebastian’s arm, making Grell yelp from surprise.

“Lady Elizabeth! You have to go and save her. You have to get her out of here…”

“We’re getting both of you out of here,” Sebastian assured her and was about to pick her up and carry her away when Elizabeth screamed and Ciel shouted.

Somehow, Elizabeth had gotten her hands on a halberd and was now flying through the air, trying to kill the Earl, while also screaming “NO! NO! NOOOO!”

Sebastian was forced to abandon his wife and save his young Master, which he couldn’t do forever—the room was too cramped for that.

“Look sharp, Grell!”

“I would, but…”

“DAMMIT GRELL THIS ISN’T THE TIME!” Eleanora said, staggering to her feet and giving Grell such a first-class glare that she sprang into action.

She sliced the air above Elizabeth and she dropped the weapon and collapsed onto the floor. Sebastian and Ciel knelt down to investigate, and the butler found a puppet string.

“But who…” Ciel started, “who would do such a thing?”

“He would,” Eleanora said, pointing upwards.

And at that moment, all three of them—Ciel, Sebastian, and Grell—were bound with puppet strings.

“So—then—I—thought—to—myself—” the rust-haired man said, standing above them, “I—have—two—more—dolls—at—my—disposal. What—materials—shall—I—use?”

“Who are you?” Ciel shouted up at him. “Why are you doing all this?!”

“Why is my wife in a wedding dress?!” Sebastian wanted to know.

“Oh, so now I’m his wife,” Eleanora griped to no one.

“She’s—mine—now,” the man said. “My—master—gave—me—permission—to—marry—her. To—have—a—companion—and—a—helper—to—make—dolls—with…”

Sebastian scowled.

“What master?”

“But why do you want to marry her?” Grell asked. “I mean, there are so many other, far more beautiful ladies out there…”

“There—is—no—one—more—beautiful—than—my—fair—lady…”

Sebastian gave a look to Eleanora over his shoulder, as if to say, “can you believe this moron?” and was incredibly dismayed to discover that she was blushing.

“Enough of this!” he said, feeling a swell of something he had never felt before—something thick and bitter and unpleasant. The halberd was lying nearby; he kicked it upwards, straight into the rival’s—that is, man’s—face.

The man was knocked off-balance and the strings binding them loosened enough for Sebastian to go after him in earnest.

The man fell to the ground and Sebastian was just about to kill him when Eleanora fell down in front of him, shielding him.

“Eleanora! Move.”

“No,” she said, glaring up at him.

“Eleanora,” Sebastian said through gritted teeth, “please move.”

“Only if you don’t kill him.”

“And why shouldn’t I kill him? Haven’t you seen what he’s done to you?”

“And when you tortured me—when you cut off my arm and my leg and took away my womanly parts, only to put them back in again because you’re an idiot—did somebody kill you?”

Sebastian’s eyes flashed.

“…That’s different. These are two entirely different circumstances!”

“He’s a butler, just like you. And he’s a damned good butler, too!”

“You’re just saying that because he thinks you’re pretty.”

“I’m saying that,” she said calmly, “he doesn’t deserve to die. He was just following orders, just like you. You did something horrible to me because your Master ordered you to, right? And he did the same thing.”

Sebastian did not look convinced.

“He’s a good butler,” Eleanora said. “He’d be an asset to Phantomhive. How many butlers do you know who can make practically indestructible dolls?”

“…She’s right,” Ciel sighed. “Sebastian, don’t kill him.”

“But…But he…!”

“That’s an order.”

Sebastian “tch!”ed but he dropped the halberd. Eleanora smiled and rose up, just to collapse again. Sebastian caught her just in time—she was very, very weak.

“So—then—I—thought—to—myself—” the man said, standing up slowly. “I—must—report—this—to—my—master…”

He staggered over to a set of double doors and pushed them open. But before he could open his mouth, Sebastian gave Grell a quick head movement and she leapt inside, overturning the lone chair and pinning the man to the floor.

“Don’t—” the man gasped, crawling away from her and her scissors, “Don’t kill me! Please don’t kill me!”

The doll-man cocked his head.

“Master…?”

“Drocell! Save me! Save me right now!” the man screamed.

“You’re—not—my—master.”

“Of course I am! Save me now! NOW you stupid doll!”

“Doll…?” the man named Drocell said in mechanical confusion. “I’m—not—a—doll. I’m—a—human…”

He looked at Eleanora for clarification. She gave him a comforting smile and shook her head.

“But—I—always—thought—that—I—was—a—human…”

“He’s cute,” Eleanora whispered to Sebastian, “but he’s as sharp as a circle, if you know what I mean.”

Sebastian stared at her, which indicated to her that he, too, was a few couplets short of a sonnet, but he was mostly wondering why she said that he was ‘cute.’ Wasn’t he ‘cute’ too? Was being ‘cute’ a good thing? Why wasn’t he ‘cute’ as well?

“You’re—not—my—master,” Drocell continued, pointing at the cowering man. “You’re—not—Lord—Mandalay…”

“Well, then, if he’s not your master…who is he then?” Ciel asked, and Grell pointed her scissors at the man’s neck, causing him to scream.

“I-I’m just some toymaker!” he shouted. “I heard this place was abandoned and I had no home to go to, so I figured that I’d stay here for a bit…And then I found the butler...and I fixed him all up again! And then he came back to life…”

Ciel, Grell, and Eleanora looked at Sebastian, who shrugged.

“His soul must not have been collected properly,” he said, “and when it thought that its body had come back, it came back as well.”

“Where’s—my—master?” Drocell asked. “Where’s—Lord—Mandalay?”

“And then I thought that I’d have some fun,” the man continued to babble, “and I thought that I might have some revenge on those horrible people who drove me out of business…so I ordered Drocell to kidnap the girls and turn them into dolls! But I’m so sorry! I won’t do it again! Never, never, ever!”

Ciel rolled his eyes at this.

“Grell, could you kindly escort this man and this…butler to Scotland Yard? I think that the police will be very interested in their stories…”

“But—what—about—my—master? And—my—fair—lady…I—won’t—leave—her—behind.” Drocell tried grabbing Eleanora’s hand, but Sebastian moved her out of his reach, scowling at him.

“I can come with you to the Yard,” she said, smiling tiredly. “I don’t mind…”

“No. You’re not going anywhere. In fact, no one’s going anywhere until we get these two back to normal again…”

“Look…” Ciel gasped and everybody looked. He had been cradling Elizabeth in his arms, and her skin had suddenly turned back to normal—she was human again.

“I—did—not—finish—making—them,” Drocell said. “When—they’re—unfinished—for—too—long—they—change—back…”

Sebastian was relieved to feel Eleanora’s cold, metallic body slowly turning back to her warm, soft, human one in his arms.

“Well, then!” Ciel sighed. “I suppose that’s the end of this mystery. Now let’s get Elizabeth home and these two to the Yard.”

“What about Eleanora? I don’t want her to go to the Yard in this state…”

“But I’m fine,” she said, moving away from him and wobbling a bit. “I’ll be just fine…”

She staggered and Drocell steadied her again.

“I—can—take—care—of—you…”

Eleanora smiled up at him and Sebastian looked as if he was going to explode with rage.

“Enough of all this,” Ciel said, rubbing his eyes. “All of you, let’s go.”


	98. Chapter 98

Eleanora and Drocell returned the next day—they had left the imposter Earl of Mandalay back at the Yard. Ciel had agreed to allow the doll-butler to remain at Phantomhive for a time, just until they could track down the real Earl Mandalay.

And that, of course, was just perfect for Drocell, but it was absolute torture for Sebastian.

After Eleanora had returned safely—and after a good night’s sleep after her ordeal—Sebastian had wanted to return to his earlier angry shunning. After all, she had broken his heart. No, not broken it—

She had ripped it apart, stomped on it, shredded it into pieces, shattered it, crushed it, tore it up, slashed it apart, hacked it into littler pieces, threw it into a cesspool, and then fed to a bunch of rabid dogs with bowel problems, all while laughing without a care.

And then she had broken his heart.

The very least that he could do was give her the cold shoulder for several years or so, and even that was pure mercy compared to what she had done to him. The term “heartbreak” is completely inaccurate—everything hurts when one has been rejected, and it hurts for a very long time with a cold, feverish, stinging, cutting pain that refuses to go away no matter what one does. He had lived a long life and had experienced many painful things, but absolutely nothing compared to what he had felt when he had heard that Eleanora didn’t return his feelings at all. He wished that he had known that before he had confessed to her like an absolute moron.

But even confessing to her had been a mistake! He had just gotten caught up in the moment—what with the intimacy and all—and he had made a silly mistake. That was excusable—everybody made mistakes, after all.

If only this mistake didn’t hurt so much…

But in any case, he hadn’t been in the mood to deal with Eleanora anymore. He was sick and tired of the emotional rollercoaster and he wanted off. And just when he was sure that he was well and truly off, this…Drocell comes in and screws him all up again.

The reason why a husband shuns his wife is because he wants her to feel sad. He wants her to feel regretful and he wants her to come running back to him with tears in her eyes and beg for clemency so that he can nobly forgive her and then they can kiss and make up and maybe end the tearful reunion in bed. Was that really so much to ask for? NO.

And this Drocell was single-handedly ruining it all!

His presence didn’t seem to make Eleanora sad—quite on the contrary, it seemed to make her happy. And how could she possibly feel regretful and remorseful when she was happy?

The whole thing gave Sebastian that strange, thick feeling again—what was it called again? The young Master had called it ‘jealousy,’ which was absolutely ridiculous. Demons didn’t get jealous. Humans got jealous of demons, but demons never got jealous of humans. That was sheer nonsense.

He wasn’t jealous. He just didn’t like some random stranger barging into his life and making his wife laugh and smile. That was the husband’s job; that was his job; not some Drocell’s!

And if making Eleanora happy wasn’t enough, Drocell started interfering with other things too.

One day, Sebastian came up to Eleanora and told her to go quickly into town and pick up some packages for the young Master.

“But how can I carry all of them back here on my own?” she had asked.

“You can take a cab,” Sebastian had said, and then he had turned around to resume the shunning process, when he heard that…that…thing Drocell speak up.

“I—can—come—with—you—Eleanora.”

“Oh, really? Thank you!”

Sebastian tried not to mind that. After all, men could go and help women carry things around. That was a gentlemanly thing to do. It didn’t mean that he had ulterior motives, or that Eleanora liked Drocell more than she liked him.

But when they came back, Eleanora was walking with her arm slung through Drocell’s.

Sebastian felt a powerful surge of the thick, gross feeling when he saw that. That was his gesture of tolerance. Eleanora did that with him. That was her arm which should have been through his’; that was her smile which should have been directed at him, not at some idiot porcelain freak!

It only got worse from there. Eleanora and Drocell would take moonlit walks, arm-in-arm. Drocell would help her with all of her chores and they could almost always be found talking together about this-and-that.

Sebastian wouldn’t have minded the moonlit walks if they had been walking a kilometer apart from each other. He wouldn’t have minded Drocell helping her with the chores as long as they could do them together in separate rooms. And he wouldn’t have minded them talking together as long as they talked exclusively about work-related things, which they basically never did.

This is all a very roundabout way of saying that Sebastian didn’t like anything they were doing together—to put it bluntly, he HATED EVERY SINGLE BIT OF IT.

The feeling of jealousy never left him now, and it was always accompanied by a healthy bit of rage. He hated it when they walked; he hated it when they talked; he hated it when they looked at each other; he even started hating them breathing in each other’s direction. He felt like a walking ball of pure, sizzling fury—if emotions could generate electricity, Sebastian could have single-handedly illuminated every room in Buckingham Palace, nonstop, for about a week—and that just on the power of his emotions in a single hour.

But despite the intensity of his anger and jealousy in the daytime, all of those would melt away in the evenings, leaving only the quieter, calmer, but nonetheless equally horrible emotion of pure misery.

“Why him?” he kept on asking himself as he tried to go to sleep, tossing and turning. “Why him? Why wasn’t it me? Why did it have to be him? Why couldn’t it be me? Why him? Why him? Why him?”

And then the anger and jealousy would resume at full-power in the morning.

One morning, he came into the kitchen just in time to see Drocell bestowing a light but loving kiss on Eleanora’s willing cheek.

He was glad when a group of men tried to murder the Earl that afternoon. It helped him vent out his frustration—he just imagined that every would-be assassin was Drocell. It was nothing short of a miracle that any man out of that group managed to survive at all.

He naturally tried making moves on Eleanora; he tried to show her that, a) he still harbored affections for her and b) Drocell was an unworthy idiot who was clearly hopelessly inferior to the perfect, handsome, intelligent, kind, merciful, loving, powerful man who she was already conveniently married to. No matter which way he sliced it, he couldn’t understand why so many women continually threw themselves at his feet, willing to do absolutely anything for his love, and the one woman—the one woman who really mattered—liked somebody else. It was simply unthinkable. It was so unthinkable that it had to be some mistake, and he would prove that mistake to her—just as soon as he got her away from Drocell for one-tenth of a second.

Because, of course, one couldn’t go around making moves on women when they were clearly in the company of other men. That did absolutely nothing to endear oneself to the lady in question—you had to get the lady alone first, and then show her how wonderful you are.

So Sebastian tried to get her alone with him. He attempted to accomplish this by giving her a whole bunch of random chores and specifying that they were for one person only—i.e., no Drocells allowed. And then, once she had gone off to do that chore, he waited for a few minutes and then he would go around the house to where she just “happened” to be, and he would just be “conveniently” there, and so he would offer her his help, because he was there by pure “accident,” and then he would be able to wow her, thus permanently winning her and awing her to the point where she would only have eyes for him, and not have any time for some nightmarish living doll.

And it would have been foolproof if the servants had been competent.

And if the young Master had been less brattish.

And if Drocell had been stabbed with a rusty pitchfork and had fallen off a cliff and had gotten devoured by rabid alligators.

Because every time he tried to implement his beautiful plan, something always distracted him from getting to Eleanora punctually, so that by the time he was able to finally go to where she was, Drocell had always beaten him to the punch and was already helping Eleanora—that, or she had already finished and was free to wander around with Drocell some more.

Drocell had been at Phantomhive for some time before Ciel had finally been able to track down the Earl of Mandalay.

“He’s in a sanitarium in the country,” Ciel told Sebastian. “It’s a bit out-of-the-way; plus he’s been gone for so long. That’s what took us so long to find him.”

“So now he can leave?” Sebastian asked, “he” meaning, of course, the dratted nemesis, Drocell.

“No, first I have to write a letter to the sanitarium and ask if we could arrange a visit,” Ciel sighed. “And then we have to wait for a reply, and if we get approved, then we get rid of him.”

“Why did it have to be him?” Sebastian asked under his breath.

Ciel sighed and turned around. They were in his study, but Sebastian had gone to the window and was staring out of it at Drocell and Eleanora, who were walking arm-in-arm and laughing. Then Drocell put his arm around Eleanora’s waist and pulled her a bit closer to him and she smiled and didn’t push him away.

Sebastian had been breathing in a very hot and heavy manner, to the point where he had fogged up the window. He looked a bit like a bull.

“Why him?” he asked again. “Why did it have to be him?”

Ciel rolled his eyes at this. Sebastian had gotten into the habit of asking this question five times a day per person, and he was sick of hearing it. He apparently didn’t like Ciel’s previous answers, which included: he’s nicer than you; he’s more respectful than you; he’s handsomer than you; he’s politer than you; he knows how to actually treat a lady right and Eleanora just likes him better than you.

“I don’t know; maybe it’s because of his hair color.”

Sebastian scoffed at this.

“My Lord, that’s ridiculous.

“María,” he thought as he left the room, “that’s brilliant!”

“No, it’s not,” he told himself as he made dinner. “It’s preposterous.”

“No, it’s genius! Why didn’t I think of it before?”

“Eleanora isn’t so base as to love someone for their hair color.”

“Why not? She’s a woman, and woman care about silly things like that.”

“But I’m a man, and I don’t care for silly things like that.”

“IT’S BECAUSE OF HIS HAIR COLOR. It HAS to be!”

Yes, women do care about silly things like hair color, it’s true. But men take that silliness to a whole new level.

And Sebastian was a man first, and a demon second.

The next day, he had gone shopping with Eleanora—and Drocell, but only because he insisted on tagging along and it would have looked too obvious if Sebastian had said “like HEAVEN you’re coming with us!” Above all else, Eleanora must never know that he was jealous. She would immediately lose respect for him if she ever found out. And he was pretty pleased with himself that he had been able to keep it a secret for so long.

He had been lagging behind the chatting Eleanora and Drocell—kind of like a third wheel—when his eye fell upon a stall selling various hair dyes.

“I’m just looking,” he assured the woman selling the product, and he picked up a box—GUARANTEED TO MAKE YOUR HAIR A BEAUTIFUL ROSE RED, or so it claimed.

But this was ludicrous. He didn’t want to dye his hair. He liked his hair color—black was an excellent shade for simply everything. And besides, what if he didn’t look good as a redhead? He didn’t even like redheads. He didn’t know if Eleanora liked redheads or not…What was he even doing, looking at this stuff? Just drop the box and walk away. If a woman wanted you to change for her, she clearly wasn’t worth your time. But then again, Eleanora hadn’t said that she wanted him to change for her—he was changing for her because he wanted to, not because she had requested it. And maybe she would be blown away by the gesture—so thoughtful, so romantic!—that she would fall in love with him immediately. It was worth a shot, anyway.

No. No it wasn’t. He was not going to dye his hair. Only fops like Drocell did that, and he was a gentleman. He set the box down and prepared to walk away.

Right in time to see Drocell buy Eleanora some fancy little trinket, and right in time to see her gasp in joy and stretch up and kiss his cheek.

Sebastian immediately turned around and plunked some money onto the table.

“Keep the change,” he said and pocketed the hair dye, his face burning up. He would try it tonight—try it immediately after everyone had gone to sleep.

“Only,” he thought as they went back to Phantomhive, “only I won’t dye my hair completely red. I have more self-control than to do that. I’ll just dye it a little bit—just to get a slightly red sheen. I won’t go completely overboard…It’ll be fine. It’ll be great.”

He smirked to himself as he watched Drocell help Eleanora up into a cab.

“Just wait, you horrible little mutant puppet—I’ll win this war yet.”

He was so happy that he only “accidentally” kicked Drocell a little bit in the cab when he saw him smelling Eleanora’s hair.


	99. Chapter 99

The Undertaker was woken up in the middle of the night by somebody shaking his shoulder and hissing his name incessantly.

“Undertaker! Wake up. Undertaker!”

The Undertaker groaned and rolled over and was about to go back to sleep when somebody grabbed the blankets and yanked them off of the bed in one swift movement, thus yanking him off as well.

“OW! What the he…?”

“UNDERTAKER! Wake up!”

“I’m up; I’m up! Good god, what is it that is so important that it requires such a rude awakening at such an unreasonable hour of the night?”

“My hair!”

“Your hair?!”

The Undertaker blinked the sleep out of his eyes and stared up at the person in confusion. They were tall, familiar-looking, and were clutching their hair in desperation.

“My hair!” Sebastian said again. “Look at my hair!”

“What’s wrong with your hair?” the Undertaker yawned, slowly sitting up and fumbling for a light switch. “Don’t tell me that you’ve done something boneheaded again?”

“NO! Don’t turn on the lights!”

“But if I don’t turn on the lights, how will I be able to see your hair?” he said impatiently, and accordingly illuminated the room. He turned around to look at the elegant Phantomhive butler, and his sentence died in his throat.

“…Sebastian,” he finally said. “What did you do to your hair?”

“What does it look like I did? I dyed it!”

“But why in the flamin’ hell did you dye it THAT COLOR?!”

“I didn’t KNOW that it would turn out to be this way! I don’t understand what went wrong; I followed all of the instructions on the box to the letter and I did everything that I was supposed to do so why did it turn out this way?!”

“Alright,” the Undertaker said, running his hand through his own, thankfully-normally-colored hair. “Okay. Let’s just calm down for a bit. This is perfectly normal…”

“NORMAL?! In what WAY, in what WORLD, could this POSSIBLY be defined as ‘NORMAL?!’”

“No, no, it’s okay; it’s completely fine; this is absolutely normal…”

“How? Explain yourself.”

“It’s completely normal. Lots of young men do this sort of thing.”

“They what? They do? Really? You mean this happens a lot?”

“Of course! All the time! They feel that there is something missing in their life–or they want a change—or they want to rebel against their cruel society—and so they do something wild and outrageous! Some pierce their lips, some cut their tongue, some dye their hair an unusual colour…”

“WHAT?! You mean you actually think I WANTED it to be like…like THIS?!”

“…But don’t worry!” the Undertaker continued in false cheerfulness. “Soon you’ll see thousands of other gentleman walking around with hair…like…that. You’ll start a new fashion statement! We’ll call it…‘young punk.’”

“We’ll call it ‘imbecilic demon.’ I did NOT want it to be this way!”

“You could pull it off! It looks…um…attractive…”

The Undertaker couldn’t even say it with a straight face; he had to look away, shoulders shaking.

“Are you…laughing? Are you laughing at me? Are you laughing at this?!”

“No, I’m not. I’m serious! Besides, lots of young women are attracted to rebels…”

This put an entirely new spin on things. Sebastian tilted his head, considering this.

“They are? Really?”

“R-R-Really,” the Undertaker said, choking with suppressed laughter. “They l-l-love them…!”

Sebastian’s eyebrow started twitching.

“B-But…But…YOUR HAIR!”

And the first shock of the situation wore away, leaving only the humor, and the Undertaker collapsed onto the floor and started rolling around with glee. Meanwhile, Sebastian had crossed his arms and started tapping his foot.

“Y-Your hair!” the Undertaker couldn’t stop saying. “It’s...It’s…p…p…”

“It’s pink,” Sebastian said coldly. “Thank you; I’ve noticed that.”

It wasn’t even a nice pink, or even a light pink—something that could be easily passed off as a trick of the light or an allergic reaction or something similar. No, it was the brightest, most horrible shade of neon pink that had ever existed or ever would exist—or so Sebastian thought. His rational butler mind seemed to have shut down, leaving only the panicky, murderous demonic one.

Even now, while he was impatiently waiting for the Undertaker to calm down, he couldn’t understand what had gone wrong. He had read and re-read the instructions on the dye box several hundred times. He had carefully applied the dye to his hair, had waited for fifteen minutes, and then he had washed it out. At first, he had tried to be very careful and only added a little bit of dye to his hair—just to get that aforementioned red sheen to his black hair. But the dye seemed to be very thin, and in order to ensure that he was truly getting a head of red hair, he started applying a bit more and a bit more until he had actually used up the whole bottle.

And rather than getting upset, he had just shrugged and had dutifully waited his fifteen minutes.

“After all,” he thought, “maybe I’ll get another type of red—a type of red so dark it’ll still seem black.”

And that didn’t seem so bad at all.

Everything had been going great until he had finished his shower and had stared at himself in the mirror.

His hair—instead of being the red sheen or the dark red that he had so wanted, instead of being the rose-color that the box had promised, instead of being anything even remotely resembling the color ‘red,’—his hair was pink. It practically illuminated the whole bathroom with its neon glow—it didn’t really attract attention; it commanded it.

Sebastian had stared at his head in shock. And then, once his first impressions had died out, he screamed.

Which naturally brought the whole household hammering on his door.

Among them was Eleanora.

“Is everything alright? What happened? Can I come in?”

“NO!” Sebastian had said and he had hurled himself against the door to prevent anyone from barging in and seeing his disgrace. “Everything’s fine; just fine; nobody come in here!”

Fortunately, his bathroom was connected to his bedroom, so he was able to stay there until everyone had gone back to bed. Then he had gotten dressed and had gone directly to the Undertaker for help.

“What am I going to do?” he asked once the Undertaker had conquered his hysteria. “What am I going to do? I can’t go back like this! I’m the butler for María’s sake; if I go back with my hair such a color…”

“Why did you even do it?” the Undertaker asked. “What on earth possessed you to do such a thing?”

Sebastian shuffled around a bit awkwardly. He normally would have said something noncommittal, like “nothing,” but that would have been a blatant lie, which he, of course, couldn’t tell.

The Undertaker quickly figured it out despite his silence—or maybe because of it.

“Let me guess,” he sighed, “your reason starts with an E and ends with an A and has a ‘leanor’ somewhere in the middle of the two.”

Sebastian still didn’t say anything.

“I can’t believe that you would do something so moronic just to impress your wife. I had really thought that you had more sense than that.”

“Shut up. You would have done the same.”

“No, I would not have. I would not have dyed my hair pink to impress a girl.”

“IT WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO BE PINK.”

“Well, then, what color was it supposed to be?”

“R-Red,” Sebastian said sheepishly.

“RED?! Why of all colors red? You don’t even like red hair!”

“I thought…I thought that…”

“Well, stop thinking. You young men are all the same! You’d do anything to get a smile out of the object of your affections, and that inevitably results in something stupid happening to you—stupid mostly because, with a little bit of common sense, it could have been easily prevented!...No, but that hair truly is horrible,” the Undertaker said, giggling a bit again.

“Yes, I know that. But why did it happen?”

“You must have messed up the dye job somehow.”

“I did not. I read the instructions very thoroughly.”

“Then why did it turn out that way?”

“If I knew that, I wouldn’t even be here, now would I? But never mind why it got this way! What’s important is how I undo it!”

“You can’t undo it. You have to dye it black again.”

Sebastian took several steps backwards, clutching his hair protectively.

“I don’t know what else to do with it! It’ll take some time for your roots to grow out, so unless you want to spend a month with pink hair, your only real option is to dye it black.”

Sebastian winced, considered things, and finally nodded.

“Alright. Could you please run out and get me some more dye and then I’ll…”

“No. You’re not doing anything. If there’s any dying to be done, I’ll be doing it. Who knows what color your hair will turn out if you do it wrong again?”

“But I didn’t do it wrong!”

“Of course you didn’t,” the Undertaker said, patting his arm soothingly. “Now just wait here; I’ll be back in a moment.”

Fifteen minutes later, he came back with three bottles of black hair dye.

“Just in case we need more than one bottle,” he explained in the bathroom. “We’re going to need a lot of this stuff to cover all these…problem areas.”

Sebastian didn’t say anything throughout the whole dying job. The Undertaker, as expected, used up all three bottles to make sure that all trace of the pink was eliminated. They waited for half-an-hour instead of the usual fifteen minutes, just to make sure that the dye would really soak in, and then Sebastian took a shower.

The Undertaker was called up to the bathroom after he was done.

“Well? How is it? Is it black again?”

Sebastian stepped out of the tub and the Undertaker’s mouth dropped open. In fairness, his hair was no longer a vibrant neon pink.

No, it was now the charming green color that occasionally accompanies vomit.

The Undertaker stammered out some words while Sebastian approached him, cracking his knuckles.

“So,” he said in a soft, dangerous voice, “I messed up the dye job, did I? I did it wrong, hmm?”

“We—can—fix—it,” the Undertaker choked out, his face already turning red.

“HOW.”

“I’ll—go—see—if—there’s—some—unholy—dye. Meanwhile, you—try—and—wash—it—out!”

The Undertaker fled downstairs and soon the whole house was shaking with his laughter.

Sebastian rolled his eyes and got back into the bath. He used up all of the Undertaker’s shampoo, conditioner, soap, body wash, shaving cream, and any other body-cleaning product that he could find. And when he ran out of that, he started looking for more…creative alternatives.

He found some toilet cleaner in the bathroom, so he used that. He found some disinfectant, and he used that. He found some bleach, but he didn’t use that, as he didn’t want his hair to come out a sick white.

But he used everything else: dish soap, hand soap, turpentine, bathroom cleaner, floor polisher, baking soda, charcoal, ash, gin, brandy, a half-filled bottle of vodka, vinegar, tea, some kind of carbonated drink, various forms of acid, mortuary disinfectants, ancient perfume, cologne, aftershave; anything and everything that he thought could help clean his hair, he used, and he used up everything. Soon the bathroom was littered with empty bottles and cartons and boxes.

The house smelled decidedly odd when the Undertaker returned with nothing. His stomach filled with dread as he knocked on the bathroom door.

“Sebastian? What did you do now?”

The door opened, and the Undertaker couldn’t decide what looked worse—the bathroom or the butler.

The bathroom, as aforementioned, looked like some sort of demented junkshop. But Sebastian, all things considered, looked worse.

His skin was irritated from the acid and the real human alcohol which he had used—which he, of course, was wildly allergic to—and his hair had not become any better from the treatment. If anything, it looked even worse than before.

When pink and green mix, they usually come out as brown. In some cases, they make a very nice brown—kind of auburn-like, really. But when one mixes a horrible pink color with a horrible green color, it can be expected that the result will be a horrible brown color.

And it was even worse in Sebastian’s case: the top of his head was still green, but then it went into that horrible brown, but the ends of his hair were still bright pink.

“…You look like a clown gone terribly, terribly wrong,” the Undertaker said. This was past laughing—this was past frustration and getting upset—he was actually starting to feel a bit impressed. Who knew that a demon butler—a butler, of all things!—could do so many brainless things in one night? “What’d you do—wash it with turpentine or something?”

Sebastian nodded and grimly held up the now-empty turpentine bottle. The Undertaker’s eyes popped out of his head.

“WHY IN THE TEN HELLS DID YOU DO SUCH A THING?!”

“It said that it dissolved things,” Sebastian said, staring at the box, “so I naturally thought that it could dissolve the hair dye, too…”

“Do you realize that that stuff is nasty? What else did you put into your hair?”

Sebastian gestured to the mess all around.

“Everything that you see, I used.”

“You mean…?” the Undertaker said in growing horror as his eye fell on a bottle, which had been formally filled with a substance that he had used to clean his drains. “You mean…You poured all of this on your head?!”

“And scrubbed it in, yes. Why?”

“Sebastian, do you realize that these things could kill you?!”

The butler scoffed at this.

“It’s a miracle that there’s still hair on your head at all! No, it probably can’t even be considered ‘hair’ now—you probably damaged it to no end.” The Undertaker sighed and left the house again. He didn’t return for quite a while, but this time around, he came back with several things in a shopping bag.

Sebastian was still sitting in the bathroom, trying to see if there was anything left in the bottles to use for his hair. He rolled his eyes upon seeing the Undertaker take out a razor.

“Please. It’s not that bad that I’m going to kill myself over it…” His voice died out when the Undertaker brought out a can of shaving cream. “NO! No, I am NOT cutting my hair off!”

“Sebastian, it’s not even hair anymore! With all the garbage you put on it, it’s just a chemical battlefield! If we don’t shave it, it’s just going to fall out anyway.”

Sebastian scoffed again and twisted a lock of his hair around his finger to show how strong it was.

“Please. A little acid in the hair isn’t going to do anything to hurt it…”

The lock that he was playing with quietly fell out of his hair and into his hand. He stared at it in shock—he hadn’t even pulled it out or applied pressure to it; it had literally just fallen out.

He silently sat down in front of the Undertaker, who started applying shaving cream onto his head.

“I think I know why your hair can’t be dyed,” the Undertaker finally said.

“Oh really? Why?”

“Isn’t there something in your bible that says that changing oneself in any way is a sin?”

Sebastian was about to refute this when he remembered. There was indeed a passage in the Unholy Gospelle which clearly stated that physically changing oneself was a moral and religious crime.

“So what? You think that I’ve been cursed?”

“No, I think that you unholies have different hair than ours,” the Undertaker mused. “It looks like hair and it acts like hair but it must have a different composition—it reacts negatively to chemicals like hair dye. That’s why, whenever we tried dying it, it came out the wrong color.”

“You mean,” at this Sebastian perked up, “you mean that if I used, say, blue hair dye, my hair might come out red?”

The Undertaker had started shaving Sebastian’s hair off, and he “accidentally” nicked his scalp upon hearing this.

“OW!!”

“Don’t struggle,” the Undertaker growled, and soon all of Sebastian’s hair—once so fine and prized, now so atrocious and damaged—was in the sink instead of on his scalp, which was indeed bright red and inflamed with irritation.

“So I’m bald now,” Sebastian said, staring gloomily at his reflection. “What do I do now?”

The Undertaker reached into his shopping bag and pulled out two more things: unholy medicinal salve and unholy hair restoration tonic, because altering one’s hair color was a sin, but the desire to not lose hair was not.

He smeared the salve onto Sebastian and then bandaged it up.

“I think that you should stay here for a couple of days—just until your hair grows back,” the Undertaker said. “We won’t put anything else on it now, as I think that’ll do more harm to your skin than good, but unholy tonic works wonders. I’m sure that in a week or two your hair will be back to normal.”

“A week or two?!” Sebastian’s mind immediately flashed back to Eleanora and Drocell—if he was gone for a week or two, they would only get closer and closer until there would be no more room for him! “I can’t stay here for a week or two!”

“It’s either that or you go back to Phantomhive looking like a failed lobotomy patient. Or I could run out and buy you a wig!”

Sebastian actually seriously considered this option before the Undertaker told him that he was not running out in the middle of the night again. Then he slowly resigned himself to his fate of staying at the Undertaker’s for a week—and all because of some hair dye.

The first day was spent trying to heal his scalp—this was accomplished by the Undertaker tying him up in a chair and applying the salve every half-hour. The chair-tying was because the skin had started peeling from his head, and Sebastian had started trying to scratch it off, which a) wasn’t good for his head, and b) made the Undertaker feel ill to look at it.

Unholy salve, like unholy tonic, also works wonders, so by the second day, his head was completely fine and the Undertaker could start the re-growing process. The salve and the tonic were applied every hour.

Sebastian’s hair started growing by the third day so it looked as if he had a buzz cut. And so on and so forth, until by the seventh day his hair had reached down to his shoulders. The Undertaker had spent several minutes wondering how to cut it, but Sebastian just bunched it up, got a knife, and sliced several inches off of it. His hair then fell down as it used to, with his bangs falling around his face. He looked absolutely normal after he had cut his hair—it was as it used to be, strong and glossy black, as if it had never changed; as if it hadn’t been dyed twice and then subjected to all sorts of chemical interrogations, only to be shaved off and then regrown.

Sebastian thanked the Undertaker for everything and tried to pay him for his trouble.

“Oh, no!” the Undertaker assured him. “You’ve paid me quite enough already—when I just think of you with that pink hair…!”

He started laughing again and as Sebastian turned to leave, his eye fell upon his reflection. He stared at himself for a time, musing, before finally saying,

“…I wonder if I would look good as a blonde…?”

The Undertaker immediately stopped his giggling and said in a deadpan voice,

“If you come in here with your head a piss-yellow, I’m not helping you again.”

Sebastian left awfully quickly after that.


	100. Chapter 100

Ever since the monsters from the primordial ooze realized that there are, indeed, different creatures that are commonly referred to today as “Men” and “Women,” there have been rules for courtship. Society provides quite a lot of these rules: for example, a man can talk to a woman, but only after he has been introduced to the woman by another, preferably older man who knows both the man and the woman, and if both the man and the woman are in the proper social situation, usually where they’re both surrounded by other people so that there is no horrible hanky-panky going on without anybody else noticing.

As if society didn’t have enough rules for courtship on its own, men and women have their own different guidelines. Suppose that two women are pursuing one man, and one woman is suddenly temporarily removed from the scene. The woman who remains has two options: she can either freely pursue the man while her rival is absent, thus proving herself the lesser lady; or she can wait for the other woman to return so that the fight can continue fairly, thus keeping things interesting and giving both ladies an equal chance to win the man’s heart.

But suppose that two men are pursuing one woman, and one man suddenly mysteriously vanishes for a week. What does the remaining man do? Does he wait for the enemy to return, thus levelling the playing field? Or does he freely pursue the object of his affections, happily unhindered by the other dominant male?

Women think that courtship is a fight; a fight that can be either easily won or lost, it doesn’t necessarily matter which. Either way, another member of the masculine persuasion will come along shortly, and there is nothing to worry about. Men think that courtship is a War, which will essentially determine the Fate of the Universe and All of its Inhabitants depending on if it is Won or Lost. It is no coincidence that the person who said “all’s fair in love and war” was a man.

So what does that man do—the one who is battling another man over one woman?

It didn’t take very long for Drocell Keinz to decide: naturally, he would freely pursue the object of his affections, happily unhindered by the other dominant male! Only a complete moron would pick the other option! He had an advantage and he would use it, dammit!

Not that he told Eleanora this, of course. Women very rarely understand why it’s so important for a man to have THAT ONE WOMAN, especially as they know that women aren’t exactly an endangered species.

But returning to the original point: as soon as Drocell realized that Sebastian was unavailable, it did not take him very long to increase his wooing efforts in regards to Eleanora. He knew that Sebastian couldn’t be gone forever, and that eventually he would return, and he would undoubtedly want to make up for lost time, so he (Drocell) would have to work fast. Because, even though Drocell was a doll with a head stuffed with straw, he was still able to recognize Sebastian’s previous efforts to get his wife back, thus, getting her away from Drocell, and he liked that just as much as Sebastian liked Drocell flirting with Eleanora.

Unfortunately for Sebastian, Drocell had been pulling ahead in the race for quite some time, mostly due to two things:  
1) Eleanora thought that Drocell was more physically appealing than Sebastian,

and,  
2) Eleanora hated Sebastian.

So the odds were against the demon butler right from the start. And him being gone for one week didn’t really help him much either, especially as Drocell (unlike Sebastian) knew how to win a woman’s heart.

Women really just want three things from men: kindness, consideration, and respect—all qualities which Sebastian was tragically lacking in. For a demon, “kindness” meant giving someone a painless death; “consideration” meant not devouring someone’s soul at a wedding, and “respect” meant not referring to your human wife as “Hey You Numbskull” all the time.

A human would not really see these interpretations as very kind, considerate, or respectful at all, but regrettably, Sebastian was actually more kind, considerate, and respectful than most other demons, which should give one an indication as to what Drocell had to beat—which was, namely, not much.

Naturally women don’t consider demonic understandings of kindness, consideration, and respect to be very romantic or very nice or really very appealing in any form or sense of the word, and so Drocell was able to pull ahead again simply because he wasn’t a demon.

And then, once he was able to work his magical, kind, considerate, and respectful powers on Eleanora, that was essentially it for Sebastian. An intelligent person would have dropped out of the race at this point, but Sebastian was firstly, not a person, and secondly, in love; and love, as everybody knows, is the best way to successfully eradicate the slightest trace of anything distantly resembling “intelligence.”

So when Sebastian came back from his mysterious week-long mission, and saw that Eleanora was leaning more towards Drocell than towards him, he didn’t back down. Quite on the contrary, his efforts increased.

Mathematically, statistically, logically, the odds had been against Sebastian from Day One, but he had something that Drocell didn’t, and he wasn’t even aware of it until that first day back at Phantomhive.

He was in the kitchen, preparing breakfast, when Eleanora came down and saw him.

“Oh! There you are! I was wondering when you’d come back…Where have you been? What happened to you? Are you alright?”

As she said this, she moved closer to him and stared deep into his eyes in concern. She didn’t know where he had gone and why he had left, but she did know that he had been screaming in the bathroom, which indicated to her that there had been a problem.

“I’m fine,” Sebastian said, resisting the urge to tug at his hair, just to make sure that it was still strong and black. “Everything’s fine.”

“Where were you?”

“I was…at the Undertaker’s.”

Normally he would have lied, but Contracts were always inconvenient at the very worst of times.

“What were you doing there?”

“I had to take care of…a personal emergency.”

And this is where he finally got ahead of Drocell in one regard. Drocell himself was sitting at the kitchen table. He had snorted unprofessionally upon hearing “personal emergency,” which doesn’t sound very brave or awesome or worthy of feminine interest to a male.

But to a woman…!

Most women make excellent mothers. They make excellent mothers from the day of their birth to the day of their death, even if they have never had any prior experience with children. They have irrepressible “motherly instincts” which always make them want to jump in and help when they learn that someone is hurt or in a bad situation.

And Sebastian had been hurt and in a bad situation at the exact same time!!

And so Eleanora’s “motherly instincts” immediately sprang into action and told her that this was a man who desperately needed to be pitied and loved and fawned over, which is precisely what she began to do.

“Poor thing,” she said in genuine sympathy, and she even stroked his shoulder a bit. “Are you hurt? Was it traumatic? Are you sure that you’re absolutely alright?”

Sebastian couldn’t speak for several seconds. This was going against everything his brain was telling him: personal emergencies, especially embarrassing ones, were meant to be hushed-up and never spoken of again, specifically in front of beautiful ladies, because beautiful ladies were not typically interested in the time one had to go to the hospital for trying to adopt a clearly-rabid cat (which nobody could prove had actually happened, by the way).

And yet here she was, smiling up at him in a loving manner and cuddling up to him.

“Poor thing,” she kept saying. “You poor, darling dear…”

Poor darling dear! Sebastian couldn’t help but shoot a triumphant look at the stunned Drocell, whose mind had been thinking the exact same thing about the beautiful ladies.

“But what happened?” Eleanora was saying now. “Did it hurt? Did it hurt a lot?”

“Actually,” Sebastian mused, “it did. It hurt very, very much.” He wisely chose to not mention that his scalp had hurt because he had tried washing it with drain-cleaner.

“Ohh!” Eleanora said, and she helped him sit down at the table and even started massaging his shoulders a bit. “Can I get you something? Don’t get up; you shouldn’t be working…But what happened?”

“Yes—what—happened?” Drocell asked irritably, insanely jealous that his woman—HIS woman!—was hand-feeding his rival—the ENEMY— homemade cookies which she had made last night.

“Oh, you know,” Sebastian said, waving aside Drocell and giving Eleanora a sad, puppy-dog look, “I just got involved with some chemicals…” Which technically wasn’t a lie.

“Chemicals?!” she gasped and poured him some more tea. “How’d you do that? Were there a lot of chemicals?”

“Enough to sting,” Sebastian said, unable to believe this miraculous change in fortune. Yesterday he was an idiot who had dyed his hair pink. Now he was a hero, and who didn’t love a hero?...Well, apparently Drocell Keinz didn’t love them, but to Heaven with him! Eleanora liked them, and that was the most important part. “It was like a chemical battlefield.” This, also, was not technically a lie, as the Undertaker had said so.

“But—what—was—like—a—chemical—battlefield?” Drocell suddenly wanted to know.

“I almost thought my skin would never grow back,” Sebastian said to Eleanora, ignoring the question.

“Skin—wouldn’t—grow—back—where?”

“Yes, where?” Eleanora suddenly also wanted to know, which Sebastian thought was rather a pointless question which didn’t really need an answer. “Where exactly did you get these chemicals? On your hands?”

Sebastian shuffled around nervously in his seat. This was a direct question, and he couldn’t really avoid it without seeming suspicious.

“On…On my scalp,” he finally said.

Drocell snorted again at this. Eleanora silenced him with a glare, but when she turned to look at Sebastian again, he could tell that those loving motherly instincts were starting to question the validity of his illness.

“How’d you get chemicals on your scalp?”

“It happens sometimes,” he said and tried to change the subject. “You’re looking wonderful today, Eleanora. I haven’t seen you in forever…I’ve missed you quite a lot, you know…”

“No, butler, you don’t just get chemicals on your scalp for no reason,” Eleanora said, who hadn’t been paying attention to his following sentences. “Did somebody dump them on you by accident? Where you at a chemical factory and there was an accident? How’d you get them on your head?”

“I…I put them there,” Sebastian said in a voice that was so low it was practically inaudible.

“You put CHEMICALS on your HEAD?! WHY?!”

A woman’s motherly instincts are very selective in what they find pitiable. If somebody goes to the hospital, they deserve love and tender care. If somebody goes to the hospital because they were dared to step out onto oncoming traffic, that does not deserve love and tender care. To summarize, if a person gets hurt because they were doing something stupid, women do not find that very appealing.

Sebastian was very quickly learning this, and he was struggling to phrase his recent adventures in a way which somehow made him seem like a Knight in Shining Armor, rather than an Idiot Butler With No Experience In Regards To Hair Dye.

“I…I got something horrible in my hair, and I was trying to wash it out again…”

“So you used chemicals?”

“Apparently!” he said in pseudo-brightness. “Darling, I really should get back to breakfast, you know…”

“What’d you get in your hair?” He didn’t answer and she rephrased the question. “What did you put in your hair?”

“Ah…Nothing of importance.”

“Sebastian,” she growled, leaning in dangerously, “what the !!! did you put in your hair?”

“H-Hair dye…”

Eleanora stared at him for a bit. Then she rose up, sighing, and left the kitchen. Both Sebastian and Drocell could hear her audibly say in the hallway,

“My god, I married a !!!ing moron.”

Drocell waited until she was gone completely before bursting into raucous, mechanical laughter. Sebastian stood up and went back to cooking breakfast, painfully aware that his face was turning bright red with embarrassment and shame. Morons were not handsome Knights in Shining Armor, and most people would much prefer to be swept off of their feet and carried into the sunset by a handsome Knight in Shining Armor rather than a Moron.

“H-H-Hair—dye!” Drocell was saying, barely able to speak. Sebastian glared at him and Drocell suddenly turned serious. He knew that glare—it was the glare of someone who had been cruelly wronged, but they’re still not going to surrender. On the contrary: they’re going to fight even harder, now—they will not rest until there is a definite—definite—victor, and they’re going to do all that they can to make sure that that victor is them.

All’s fair in love and war, and this love was very quickly spiraling into a full-scale war.


	101. Chapter 101

Ciel was actually enjoying the fight between Sebastian and Drocell. He, personally, didn’t understand the point of the whole thing, but he could enjoy it nonetheless. It was great fun to constantly yank Sebastian’s chain.

“I don’t see why you’re so upset,” he told his butler once. “After all, didn’t you tell her to go do whatever she wanted to?”

Sebastian was silent, but the area around him seemed charged with extreme negative energy.

“Or did you just mean that she can do whatever she wants except go find another man?”

Sebastian was about 97% away from smacking that brat’s rear end several billion times with his shoe when Ciel suddenly said,

“You know, Eleanora hates it when men are violent with children.”

The transformation was almost like magic.

The negative aura immediately dissipated, and while Sebastian didn’t look absolutely pleased, he still continued pouring the tea and didn’t look on the verge of committing murder.

So Ciel thought up a new game.

He would be sorry when Eleanora would finally pick a man. It was great having two butlers doing whatever he wanted whenever he wanted—all he had to do was say the right words. For example, one day he said,

“You know, Eleanora finds fast men really appealing.”

Sebastian and Drocell had looked at each other, clearly wondering what this meant.

“I don’t know precisely what she intended, of course,” the Earl continued calmly, “but maybe it has something to do with whoever can bring me my tea first…”

And soon both butlers had ran for tea and returned within five seconds. It really was almost like magic.

But the fun didn’t just stop at tea, though. Ciel could literally make the butlers do anything—anything. All he had to do was involve Eleanora somehow.

For example, one day, it was beautiful outside, but unfortunately, Sebastian insisted on keeping him inside to do complex math problems. Normally, Ciel would have just sulked and tried to make the experience as unpleasant as possible for his butler, but now with this rivalry, all he had to do was say,

“You know, Drocell doesn’t make me study in wonderful weather. I overheard Eleanora saying, in fact, that she admired a man who took advantage of such sunshiny days.”

Sebastian immediately slammed his textbook shut and ordered—ordered!—him to go outside and get some fresh air.

And then there was the time when Drocell didn’t want to go through the trouble of making him a fifth dessert. Normally, he would have insisted and insisted until he would be worn down, but now, all he had to do was say,

“Eleanora told me just now that I’m too thin. I really should be gaining some weight…Maybe with another cake? Yes, I’m sure that that’ll do it…And Eleanora will be so happy that someone is finally looking after my health!”

Drocell made so many desserts that evening that even Ciel couldn’t finish them all.

And then there was when Sebastian tried making him finish his vegetables…

And the time when Drocell bought the wrong coat and didn’t want to go and get the right one…

And the time when Sebastian tried to make him wash the dog…

And the time when Drocell tried to make him go to bed at a decent hour…

If Ciel wasn’t careful, this sudden power could go right to his head and turn him into some sort of villain. But that wasn’t an issue…yet.

Another thing that Ciel liked to do was set the two butlers on each other’s throats. Eleanora frequently assisted him with this game, even though she didn’t really like doing it, so he could only do it once a day.

One time, Ciel asked Eleanora to drop her handkerchief on his signal and not pick it up. Then he rang for the two butlers, and soon they were standing in front of him. They kept on looking around with different facial expressions: first, they looked at him with distaste and disinterest. Then, they looked at each other with deep loathing and obvious murderous intent. And finally, they would glance behind their shoulders at Eleanora with such sweet, simpering, lovelorn puppy-dog looks that it made one sick to look at.

Ciel stared at Eleanora and Eleanora looked at him. Then he sighed and tapped three times on his desk with one finger—the signal.

Eleanora accordingly dropped her handkerchief; the butlers’ attention was immediately diverted to it.

All was tense for a few seconds. Ciel raised his eyebrow at his maid, who raised one back at him. And then she said, in the most monotone voice possible, with the most emotionless face in existence,

“Oops.”

And both butlers lunged for the handkerchief.

The battle didn’t last long; soon Sebastian was rising from the floor, practically glowing with triumph. He offered Eleanora her handkerchief like a true gentleman, which she grudgingly accepted like a true pissed-off woman.

Ciel now had both eyebrows raised in her direction; Sebastian was looking happy and eager; Eleanora was wishing that everybody in the room was dead.

Finally she gave Sebastian a strained clap on his shoulder.

“Good job,” she said in the same way that Sebastian might praise a dog.

It was more than enough to make him ecstatic, though. His whole face immediately lit up, and as soon as Eleanora had left the room, he lost no time in smirking superiorly at the defeated Drocell.

And so began a series of battles which took place every night and were only resolved when it was time to begin the day’s work. As soon as everyone else was asleep, Sebastian and Drocell would go outside and essentially try to kill one another before going back inside when the sun was rising.

Leaving Eleanora to clean up after them.

At first, they didn’t do too much damage to one another. Aside from a couple of bruises which could easily be covered with makeup, there wasn’t any sign of fighting. But after the handkerchief episode, Drocell had decided to get revenge.

When Eleanora went into the kitchen the next day, the first thing she saw was Sebastian sitting on a chair, pressing some ice against a black eye.

“Sebastian!” she gasped and immediately ran to his assistance. Aside from the black eye, he was bleeding in several places and had a hole in his stomach. He was also missing a couple of his teeth.

“Oh, you poor, poor darling…Where does it hurt? Are you in much pain? Tell me everything, sweetheart.”

Sebastian’s heart swelled with rapture and adoration upon hearing such sweet words from his beloved, but he cleverly masked it with a pitiful, pained look.

“Everywhere…” he whispered, trembling a bit at her gentle touch. “It hurts so much, I can hardly stand it…”

“You—want—to—talk—not—standing?”

Eleanora whirled around; Sebastian shot daggers at his rival, who was just entering the kitchen, hobbling a bit because his left leg had been torn off, along with several of his fingers. Also his head was facing the wrong way.

“Eleanora—look—what—that—monster—did—to—me!”

“Eleanora, look what that beast did to me!” Sebastian said, grabbing her hand and pressing it against his chest.

“Eleanora!”

Now Drocell had taken her other hand and was pressing it against his chest.

“Eleanora!”

“Eleanora!”

“Eleanora!”

“ENOUGH!” Eleanora screamed and wrenched herself away. “I am sick and tired of dealing with you two numbskulls all the time! Can’t you two man up and stop this idiocy?”

Idiocy?

Sebastian and Drocell shared a look, thinking the same thing. Idiocy?! They weren’t idiots! They were Knights in Shining Armor, fighting boldly for Milady’s fair hand! And Damsels in Distress didn’t think that their saviors were idiots—they thought that they were heroes! There was something definitely wrong with this picture…Who was in the wrong, here? Her or us?

Her. It definitely had to be her. She just must not have been in the mood to be saved by her Knight (of course, Sebastian and Drocell had a different opinion on who her knight was). She’ll come around eventually, once she realizes how amazing her Knight is.

They were right about Eleanora not being in the mood to be saved. In fact, she hadn’t been in the mood ever since she realized that Sebastian was jealous, which she had figured out roughly five seconds after she had been in the same room with him when they had met Drocell.

The problem with being pursued by two men is that eventually one would have to choose, and unless one was planning on becoming a polygamist (unseemly and unladylike), only one man could be chosen. And Eleanora didn’t really want to pick out one. They both had their benefits and their disadvantages.

Like Drocell. Drocell was everything she liked in a man: kind, considerate, respectful, handsome, adoring…He was also dumb as bricks, and Eleanora simply detested stupidity of any kind. He could barely make a decision on his own; he literally had to be ordered around to do anything, which was taxing. It also made her impatient and got old after a very short time. And he just wasn’t as strong as Sebastian, both physically and mentally. He wouldn’t really be able to defend her if she was truly in a bad situation. But he loved her, and she loved him. But being with him meant cheating on her husband, which is one of the most detestable things any person could ever do.

Sebastian was intelligent and strong and elegant and gentlemanly and professional…He was also a complete asshole. He hadn’t even cared about her until the threat of another man came along. He looked down on humans—which included her—and he also had that damned macho mentality which was always so irritating and made him do stupid things. But she was already married to him, which was convenient…But he was also a demon…But he was also filthy rich…But he was also heartless and sadistic…

It was so hard to choose. Love over money? Elegance over kindness? How did those women in those trashy romance novels ever choose one person? Eleanora knew that she would eventually have to pick one, but for now, she wanted to have nothing to do with either of them. Right now, all she wanted to do was ignore the problem and pray daily that it would somehow resolve itself.

And for a few days, it looked as if it did. Ciel had received a letter from the sanatorium, which said that the Earl of Mandalay wanted to see his butler again. Drocell would be sent out to the country, leaving Sebastian with Eleanora. For some time, it looked as if everything had been fixed by Fate.

Sebastian was naturally walking on the clouds throughout these days. His hated enemy was being sent away and he would be the winner by default. Eleanora would eventually forget the doll-freak, but before that happened, he could be the shoulder to cry on, which would only improve his standing with his wife. Perfect in every way! He couldn’t have planned it better himself.

But a few hours before Drocell was to leave, he asked Eleanora to meet him in the garden—alone. Naturally Sebastian couldn’t let such a suspicious meeting go unnoticed, so he followed them.

They wandered around the garden for a bit, and then they sat down on a stone bench, where they were silent for a time. And then Drocell seized Eleanora’s hands and starting talking.

It would be too long and too tedious to relate everything that was said during those five minutes (probably more than ten minutes, actually, due to Drocell’s mechanical way of speaking), but the gist of his speech was this: he simply adored Eleanora; he couldn’t live without her, and would she please come with him to the country so they could spend the rest of their natural lives in perfect bliss, serving the Earl of Mandalay, who, Drocell assured her, was much nicer than the Earl of Phantomhive.

Sebastian’s heart had grown cold upon hearing such a beautiful, touching, well-thought-out oration. But…Eleanora wouldn’t buy it, right? She would stay at Phantomhive, right? She would be loyal to her husband—right?

Eleanora was silent for a time after Drocell had proclaimed his undying love. Then she squeezed his hands, laughed a bit, looked deep into his eyes and said, smiling,

“Drocell, I love you. I love you very, very much. I had never thought that I could love someone so much...I don’t think that I could ever love anyone half so much as I love you.”

Sebastian stopped listening after this. He just turned on his heel and strode away. The carriage had to be ready for Drocell’s departure, after all. And he was on a schedule.

Sebastian had felt pain when Eleanora had said that she hadn’t slept with him out of love. But that was nothing compared to the pain that he felt now.


	102. Chapter 102

But Eleanora hadn’t finished her speech. If Sebastian had just waited for a few more minutes…But there is no sense in mourning the past and bemoaning the “almosts” and “might-have-beens.”

“Drocell,” she said, “I love you. I love you very, very much. I had never thought that I could love someone so much...I don’t think that I could ever love anyone half so much as I love you.”

“But,” she said just as he was about to embrace her, “I can’t run away with you.”

He stared at her with all the intelligence of an inebriated oyster.

“—What—?” he finally said.

“I can’t leave with you. I’m sorry.”

“Oh. OH! Oh—I—understand. You—don’t—want—to—sever—your—ties—with—Phantomhive—just—yet. I—can—relate—to—that…”

“No, Drocell; you don’t understand,” she said, taking his hands and staring at him, straight into those beautiful, perfect amethyst eyes, “I can’t leave him.”

Again the vacant stare.

Eleanora forced a laugh and continued:

“I love you, Drocell; I didn’t lie when I said that I did. And yet…whenever I think about him…I just can’t leave him. I just can’t…give up on him.”

“I—don’t—understand.”

“It’s hard to explain…And I mean that it’s REALLY hard to explain, but…I love you; I know that I do…but I feel as if I love him more. In any case,” another forced laugh, “I love him enough not to leave him.”

“Oh,” Drocell said and stared at the ground, silent.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so, so sorry…”

“Don’t—be,” Drocell said. “There’s—nothing—to—be—sorry—about.”

“If only all men could be as nice as he is,” she thought as they left the garden, holding hands. “Then maybe this world wouldn’t be the awful place it is…”

Of course he was hurting. She could tell; she knew; she was hurting too, because she knew that she had hurt him. But what else could she do? She couldn’t run away with both of them…

Sebastian was waiting for them with the carriage—just a simple two-seater. He would be the one escorting Drocell to the sanatorium and making sure that he was safely reunited with Earl Mandalay. He had a completely blank expression. This was beyond his furious face—it looked as if he was dead inside.

Drocell shook hands with all of the servants and kissed Ciel’s hand in gratitude. He said goodbye to Eleanora last. They shook hands, and then she hugged him.

“You be good,” she whispered. “Take care of yourself. I love you.”

“I—love—you—too,” Drocell said back. Sebastian looked away.

She smiled and they pulled away. She held his head in her hands for some time, studying him carefully, as if committing his face to permanent memory.

“Write often,” she said, “and come visit us.”

“We’d certainly appreciate another competent butler around here every now and then,” Ciel said, while thinking, ‘Yay! More games!’

Sebastian didn’t say anything throughout the whole parting; he didn’t look at anyone as he got into the carriage next to Drocell. He just snapped the reins and the horse took off.

Drocell turned around and waved as hard as he could. Everybody waved back. Sebastian didn’t look back once.

They waved at each other until the carriage had vanished into the distance. Then they went back into the manor.

Eleanora excused herself and went up to her room, where she lay on the bed and burst into tears.


	103. Chapter 103

The trip to the sanatorium was dead silent. Neither man tried to initiate conversation, because neither wanted to.

“Why him?” Sebastian thought as they drove along. “Why did it have to be him? Why couldn’t it have been me? What’s wrong with me? Why did it have to be him?”

The real facts are presently unknown, but it can be safely assumed that Drocell was thinking much along the same lines.

The horse moved quickly and Sebastian didn’t stop for any reason, and soon they were on the sanatorium grounds.

Drocell entered the main building to talk to one of the nurses, who said that Earl Mandalay was expecting him, but if he could please wait for five minutes while everything was prepared.

The doll went back outside, where the demon was absentmindedly rubbing down the horse after the trip.

“She—said—it—would—be—five—minutes—or—so.”

“I don’t care,” Sebastian said in a lifeless voice.

“Is—there—anything—you—do—care—about?”

“I’m different from you humans—or, rather, you former humans,” he looked at him from the corner of his eyes with distaste. “I don’t care about much, but when I do care, I care with a passion and devotion and intensity that you couldn’t even imagine in your wildest dreams.”

“I—care—too. I—care—with—passion—and—devotion—and—intensity.”

Sebastian scoffed and turned his attention back to the horse. Eleanora had stayed behind at Phantomhive—undoubtedly she was turning in her two weeks’ notice even as they spoke. And then she would join Drocell and serve the Earl of Mandalay, and then…where would he be? Would he be all alone again? He didn’t want to go back to the bachelor life; the nights were always so cold and lonely. When one has been intimate with another person—both physically and mentally—it is incredibly difficult, almost impossible, to return to solitude again.

And his parents…What would he tell his parents? How could he possibly confess to his mother that he lost his wife to a doll? And his father…What would his father say? What would his father do?

Well, his father most certainly would not try attacking him from behind with a fallen tree trunk, which was, coincidentally, what Drocell had just tried to do.

They had fought before—they had fought each other several times for several nights straight. But this fight was different. Before, they hadn’t been able to really battle because they didn’t want to ruin the mansion or wake somebody up, but now there were no inhibitions. There was nothing stopping them from ripping each other’s throats out.

Which was what they both wanted to do at this moment, more than anything else in the world.

Drocell was a skilled fighter, and he had a body that was stronger and lighter than a human’s. But, really, in the end, he was just a human soul trapped in a porcelain shell. When emotions ran rampant and there were no holds barred, the demon was easily able to overpower him. The only thing that stopped Sebastian from rendering him permanently immobile was that Drocell fell to his knees before him and started crying.

“Why?” he sobbed. “Why did she have to choose you, of all people?”

Sebastian paused in his “kill” position to consider this strange turn of affairs. For one thing, a doll was crying; he was so upset that his voice even lost some of that mechanicalness. And for another thing, he was talking about something completely impossible. Eleanora chose him?

“…You’re lying,” he finally said. “She chose you. I heard her—she loves you.” And he again prepared to slam the tree trunk through his useless skull.

But Drocell shook his head.

“She—chose—you,” he said, unable to control his grief. “She—rejected—me. She—said—she—loves—you—more…Loves—you—enough—to—stay—with—you…”

The tree slipped out of Sebastian’s hands and landed on his head, where it cracked neatly into two pieces. He hadn’t even noticed it.

“She…chose…me?” He couldn’t believe it. “She could’ve had you…and she chose me?”

“Yes,” Drocell nodded. “And—I—just—can’t—understand—why…”

At this thought, he glared up with a sudden resurgence of fury and staggered to his feet, again itching for another fight…But at that moment, a nurse stepped out of the building and approached them.

“Mr. Drocell Keinz?”

“Er—Yes?”

“The Earl is ready for you now.”

His rage and disappointment dissipated when faced with the reality of meeting his beloved master again. He turned and practically ran to the building, completely forgetting his rival.

But that was okay, as Sebastian had completely forgotten his rival as well.

“She didn’t choose him,” he thought as he got into the carriage. “She chose me. She didn’t choose him. She chose me. She didn’t choose him. She chose me! She didn’t choose him! She CHOSE ME!!”

Those two sentences—those two simply perfect, glorious sentences!—ran nonstop through his mind as he raced back to Phantomhive. The horse didn’t mind—it enjoyed the return trip as much as the butler did.

And soon he was back at Phantomhive—wonderful, outstanding Phantomhive!—and quickly scanning the house for Eleanora. He sensed her presence in one of the rooms and he immediately ran up the stairs, down the hall, throwing the door open—

“ELEANORA!”

Ciel looked up from his papers.

“Hm? Oh, it’s you. That was fast; I hadn’t expected you for another hour or so.”

Sebastian blinked at him, confused. Where was Eleanora? He must’ve just missed her.

“Anyway, it’s good that you’re here early.” Ciel tossed a paper over to Sebastian. “We have a new assignment from the Queen.”

Sebastian didn’t even understand that statement.

“…What?”

“I said that we have a new assignment from the Queen. The letter arrived not too long ago; the servants have already packed up my luggage. You can be packed in five minutes, right?”

“…What?”

“I said, you can be packed in five minutes right?”

Sebastian just blinked uncomprehendingly.

“…We have a new assignment from the Queen,” Ciel said in a very careful, slow voice. “We have to go and investigate it now.”

“…But…why?”

“‘Why?!’” Ciel was surprised. Sebastian had never questioned an investigation before—except for the dog village stint. “Because…Because the Queen asked us to…?”

“This Queen!” Sebastian said furiously. “What does she even do all day?!”

“SEBASTIAN!” Ciel said, now thoroughly shocked. “Go and get ready immediately! That is an order!” Ordering him around was actually a genius move on his part, as it prevented Ciel from answering the question, to which he didn’t exactly know the answer to.

The butler slunk out of the room, and soon he was leaving Phantomhive again. Eleanora had said goodbye to them all, but he didn’t have a chance to ask her if it was really well and truly true—if she had really chosen him over the freak—if she really loved him, and him only.

He sulked all the way, so it was not a pleasant trip to the boarding school.


	104. Chapter 104

Eleanora had spent the next week or so mourning her loss—quietly, of course; maids shouldn’t show their grief openly—the best maids didn’t even have grief! But of course that was unrealistic. To live in a world without grief is to not live in a world at all, and unfortunately, Eleanora did indeed live.

She was almost grateful when Madam Red received a sudden letter from Ciel, saying that he was fine; school was fine; he was having a bit of issues with some boy; but other than that, everything was peaches and roses and there was no need to panic and do anything rash.

And after reading such a comforting letter, Madam Red decided to panic and do something rash.

“My poor darling nephew!” she said. “Completely at the mercy of some horrible, disgusting bully! What should I do? What should I do?!”

“They say that the best cure for a bully is an even bigger bully,” Grell said.

“Nonsense; who ever said that?”

“Well…Nobody; I just made it up; but it’s true either way! So in order to help him, all you have to do is send him someone even meaner than a child bully.”

“But…But where would we even find such a person?”

And at that moment, Eleanora entered the room.

She didn’t actually mind being sent off to some random boarding school. It would help distract her from Drocell. She had received letters from him, saying how happy he was to be reunited with the Earl of Mandalay, but that he still missed her and she was on his mind constantly. That did very little to assuage her pain—quite on the contrary, it seemed to exacerbate it.

She didn’t know why the Earl of Phantomhive had suddenly decided to go to school, but she wouldn’t mind going back. She actually had lots of fond memories from her school days—putting glue in teachers’ shoes, cutting hair when the students slept, stealing the holy Communion wine from the chapel and drinking it on the sly…Good times, good times all around. The staff had not been sorry to see her leave.

It was an all-boys’ school, which she thought kind of sucked. It seemed that every other school in England was an all-boys’ school. There weren’t nearly enough girls’ schools around, and the ones that the country had weren’t very good. They taught valuable skills like Embroidery and Summoning Non-Rabid Woodland Creatures Through Song.

The front-desk staff seemed a bit hesitant to allow a woman to enter their sacred walls, but she was eventually able to convince them. And soon she was wandering around the grounds, looking at the buildings and wondering where the young Master was.

A bell tolled somewhere in the school and the pupils started filing out of their classes.

“Eleanora?”

She turned around; the young Master was approaching her, dressed in a sharp student’s outfit with several books tucked under his arm.

“Oh! Hello! How are you?”

“What are you doing here?” he asked, immediately cutting out the chit-chat, the way that he always did.

“Your aunt sent me. She said that she was worried about you with some…boy?”

“Oh,” Ciel sighed, pressing a hand over his eyes. “Why did she worry? I told her over and over in her letter that everything was under control…”

“Well, she still sent me, and here I am! Or do you want me to leave?”

“No, since you’re here, you might as well be of use. Do you want to see the boy?”

“The bully?”

“Oh, ‘bully’ is such a strong word…More like…‘annoyance.’”

“Ah, I gotcha.”

Ciel led Eleanora around the building and then pointed at a group of students who were flocking around one boy, a boy who looked simply angelic.

“That’s the one—Maurice Cole.”

“Ah, I see,” Eleanora said, not really seeing at all. “…So, which one is he? Is he the one offering the girl sweets or massaging her shoulders?”

“Girl? What girl?”

“Oh, please! It may be an all-boys’ school, but that is definitely a member of the gentler sex. She must have sneaked in somehow…Not too surprising; any girl can pass for a young boy and vice-versa…Look at you, for example!”

“I…You…What?...No, the girl is Maurice!”

Eleanora blinked at him.

“You’re shitting me.”

“I swear to God.”

“Well, we’ll just have to examine this closer, shall we?”

“No, don’t—!”

But Eleanora had already shoved her way through the throng and was standing in front of the angelic boy, smiling sweetly.

“Yes?” Maurice Cole asked, after getting over his initial shock upon seeing a young woman in the school. “Can I help you?”

“You’re Maurice Cole?”

“I am.”

“Settle a bet, honey bumpkin,” she said and leaned in conspiratorially. “You were, at some point, a Mauricia, right? I can tell by your voice; you haven’t had a voice change, recently, have you?”

“I…I beg your pardon!”

“Now don’t be shy! I’ve met several, very nice people like you; it’s nothing to be ashamed about…”

At this point, Maurice noticed Ciel in the distance, trying very hard not to laugh.

“You!” he hissed. “I should have known you’d be involved in this…this...ploy!”

“Really?” Eleanora said. “Over ten billion words in this language and all you can think of is ‘ploy?’ At least use ‘shenanigans’ or something else fun to say!”

All Maurice could do was say a frustrated “OH!” and stomp off, followed obediently by his minions. Eleanora watched him leave, shrugged, and then went back to Ciel.

“That ‘boy’ is definitely suspicious,” she told him. “No man can look that feminine without either being a woman, or using something.”

“‘Using something?’ Like what?”

“I was originally thinking estrogen supplements, but makeup would work just as well.”

“Don’t let anyone hear you say that,” Ciel said, his face turning pink from repressing laughter. “But that’s an interesting thought…I’ll have to look into it. He’s the most attractive boy in school, you know.”

“An all-boys’ school, and that is what everybody is concerned about? This whole thing only increases in suspicion…By the way,” she said as they went back to walking around the grounds, “didn’t you bring your butler with you? Where is he?”

“Why? Did you miss him?”

“No, I just want to know where he is at all times so that he doesn’t go off and do something stupid agai…Damn.”

“What? What is it?”

Ciel followed her eyes; she had stopped short and was now staring in fascination at a man dressed in black robes, talking to some of the students.

“…Who is he…?” she murmured. “I mean…and I don’t say this a lot, but…damn!”

“That’s my professor, actually,” Ciel said. “Why? Do you like him?”

“My Lord, if I wasn’t a married woman…”

“I’ll introduce you, if you’d like,” Ciel said, smirking.

“What? No! Haven’t I already told you that I’m married? But it’s still such a shame…” Eleanora gazed in longing at the man. “Such an ass really shouldn’t go to waste…”

“I dare you to say something to him as we pass by.”

“You ‘dare’ me? What are you—six?”

Ciel considered this.

“…I’ll give you five shillings.”

This put the whole thing in a completely new perspective. Eleanora licked her lips.

“Make it ten.”

Ciel checked his pockets.

“I only have eight.”

“That’ll do.”

And they continued walking. As they passed by the man, Eleanora turned to him and said in a low voice—low enough so that the other students couldn’t hear her, but loud enough for him to definitely understand what she was saying—

“Do you give private lessons, professor?”

The man stopped in his talking and turned to look at her.

Eleanora’s mouth dropped.

It was the butler.

But WHAT a transformation! Those eyes, normally so cold, now turned passionate through the use of glasses! That hair, normally so wild and free, turned sexy just by being relatively tamed! That torso, normally so bulky in a tailcoat, now finely chiseled in a teacher’s uniform!

Eleanora couldn’t stop staring at him over her shoulder as she walked. She eventually composed herself enough to give him a little approving smirk. He rolled his eyes at this and turned back to the students, but even he couldn’t hide his pleased smile.

They turned the corner and Eleanora collapsed against the building. She couldn’t even speak for a while; all she could do was make some happy gasping sounds.

“You seem impressed,” Ciel commented. “I’ve never seen you look so happy before.”

“My Lord,” Eleanora finally managed, “if he had asked me to marry him wearing that, I would’ve been at the church hours before he even arrived!”

Ciel smiled at this and shook his head. Then another bell tolled and he had to go to class, with Eleanora in tow.


	105. Chapter 105

Eleanora sat in the back of the classroom during the lesson. She didn’t mind it so much; she was tired after her long trip, and besides, the view of the teacher-butler was better from behind.

The other students didn’t realize that anything was wrong, only that there was a strange woman sitting in the back. They didn’t notice their teacher acting differently in any way whatsoever. Then again, they hadn’t been living with him for almost three years.

Ciel could tell that Sebastian was nervous. Nervous and pleased. Which made him—what? Nervously pleased? Pleasantly nervous? Probably both.

The other students thought that nothing was wrong, but Ciel could tell that he had changed. He spoke a bit louder than usual; he swallowed more; he avoided all eye contact with the students and he never, ever looked at the back of the room, where his wife was sitting, staring intensely at him.

Ciel had been a bit nervous when he leaned that Madam Red had sent his maid after him, but now he was thinking that maybe it wasn’t the worst idea. The boys in this school were idiots—it would be easy for Eleanora to smooth-talk her way into exploring the place. And Ciel’s movements were limited—schools always had so many idiotic, confining rules. And he wasn’t able to explore the other houses, even on a good day…Yes, she would be useful. He would tell her exactly what to do, right after this stupid class let out.

After several agonizing hours, a bell tolled, indicating the end of the class. Ciel rose up, stretching, and glanced at Eleanora. She looked at him and he made a sharp gesture with his head, indicating to her to follow him. She did so, watching the butler as she passed. Sebastian was absorbed in writing the next lesson on the blackboard—too absorbed. It was painfully obvious to Ciel that he was trying very hard to not seem interested in Eleanora at all.

“What happens now?” she asked when all of the rest of the students had left the classroom. “Where do we go next?”

“It’s lunchtime; I’ll take you to the dining hall. And I have something I need to talk to you about…”

“Alright. How’s the food here? Is it any good?”

“It’s okay. Never try the poached eggs, but other than that, it’s all digestible.”

“That’s great; I’m starving…”

“But what about Seb—that is, Mr. Michaelis?” Ciel looked over at his butler, who was still pretending to be absolutely fascinated by his lesson plans.

“What about him? It’s lunchtime. I’m saving him for dessert.”

The chalk broke in Sebastian’s hands; he whirled around to glare at Eleanora, but she just gave him an innocent smile and coyly waved her fingers at him. He turned away and knelt down to pick up the fallen chalk. Ciel was slightly disconcerted to see that he was blushing. Well, he was happy to be complimented. Hopefully it wouldn’t become a problem in the future.

“Anyway,” he said to Eleanora at the dining hall, temporarily banishing thoughts of Sebastian and his weirdness, “do you know why I was called here?”

“…I am hoping it was to make you into a better man?”

“No. Someone special to the Queen was sent here, and he hasn’t been replying to any letters. It’s as if he’s completely disappeared.”

“So you’re supposed to find him.”

“That’s right, only he’s in another house. There are four houses, and they have rather incredible rivalries. I can’t explore them fully, but you might be able to.”

“So you want me to find information on this person? See where he vanished off to?”

“Yes, exactly! The one who should really know what happened to him is the Principal…”

“Then go straight to the Principal; why are you asking me?”

“Access to the Principal is limited. The only ones who can get close to him are the Prefects.”

“Then get close to the Prefects.”

“I’m trying, but there’s a problem…”

“There always seems to be one.”

“The problem is Maurice Cole. As long as he’s in favor with the Prefects, I’m not able to get close to them.”

Eleanora gave him a big, friendly smile.

“…Who the !!! is Maurice Cole?”

“...Mauricia.”

“Oh, that one! Yes, I remember her…So what? You want me to explore the other houses for clues about the disappearances, and you also want me to dig up some dirt on Mauricia?”

“That’s right. Can you do all that?”

“My Lord,” Eleanora said, licking her lips, “!!!ing up the school life is what I do best.”


	106. Chapter 106

Author’s Note:

I probably should have mentioned this much earlier, but these chapters do contain spoilers, especially for Chapter 71 of the manga. I sincerely apologize if I have accidentally spoiled the manga or anime for anyone who has read, or is reading, this story and/or its predecessor.

It was remarkably easy for Eleanora to slip in and explore all of the other houses. A woman under forty wandering around the school was a rarity at best, and every other boy practically fell head-over-heels in trying to please her. It didn’t matter that she rivaled Medusa—everyone still wanted to show her around and tell her everything and fill her up with lots of garbage about the school’s history and tradition. She could get used to so much masculine attention.

There was one boy who she rather liked—at least, she was pretty sure that he was a boy—was from the Red house. He was an excellent tour guide, not only because he knew practically everything about the school, but also because he, like the young Master, had gotten messily involved with Maurice Cole. He even knew where his personal bathroom was, and at that moment, Eleanora “conveniently” needed to use the restroom.

She ducked inside and immediately started rifling through the drawers. Nothing…Nothing…Nothing…Wait. There was some sort of a strange contraption, hidden underneath a false bottom on the lowest drawer—a curling iron.

She couldn’t help but grin. Jackpot.

Every drawer had a false bottom, actually. They were made so cleverly that unless one knew that they existed, one couldn’t find them. She only found the one on the bottom drawer because it hadn’t been replaced carefully enough.

She quickly took a mental note of everything clandestine and carefully replaced the drawers. Then she flushed the toilet and washed her hands, to make it seem as if she really had just been using the necessary. And then she left the bathroom to continue interviewing her adorable little tour guide.

Sometimes it really sucked to be an adult. If she had only been a few years younger, she would have definitely pursued something with the little munchkin. But then she passed the butler in the hall, still decked out in full professor regalia, and decided that being an adult did have the occasional perk.

Sebastian, meanwhile, was wondering who that little kid was—the one who was hanging around his wife, practically drooling on her like a lovesick puppy. He hoped that Eleanora hadn’t stumbled across a Drocell Junior. Trying to teach a bunch of brats with half-rotted brains the alphabet was hard enough—he really didn’t need any more aggravation.

Ciel was also feeling irritated. On the one hand, having Eleanora do all the work for him was convenient. On the other hand, Eleanora had a terrible habit of being wildly unpredictable at the worst of times. He couldn’t concentrate on the lesson—he kept on remembering all of the stories that Eleanora had told him of when she had been at school. At the time, he had thought that they were incredibly amusing. Now they just filled him with dread. Suppose she got the urge to block up the toilets? Or make posters featuring fake rules? Or counterfeit dismissal letters and mail them to the staff?

But he needn’t have worried. Eleanora was well aware that she was no longer eleven, and continued exploring the school without any incident. That evening, she stopped by the staff rooms and entered the room marked MICHAELIS. Ciel had said that he would be there, talking to the butler.

She had arrived too early; he was with another student. He glanced up at her when she entered but continued teaching the student about math. Or Latin. Eleanora could never really tell the difference between the two; they were both long and hard and really, really boring.

The student left quickly after the appearance of a strange woman, and soon they were sitting there in the sitting room, all alone. He rose up and began making some tea, still in silence.

“…Well?” Sebastian finally said.

“Well, what?”

“Well, I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“Neither was I; I thought that you would rather die than play teacher.”

“I confess that there are other parts I would rather play.”

“Like doctor?”

He paused in his tea-making and looked over at her.

“I do beg your pardon?”

Eleanora smiled and sat down on one of the chairs, crossing her legs as she did—the most unladylike thing a woman could ever do.

“I said, would you rather play doctor?”

Sebastian raised his eyebrows and went back to the tea.

“That depends,” he said, “on who would play my nurse.”

He finished making refreshments and turned around; Eleanora was standing RIGHT BEHIND HIM.

His demonic instincts immediately went into hyper drive, but he masked it well.

“Yes, Eleanora?”

“I hate foreplay,” she mused, leaning against him, twirling a lock of hair in her fingers. “It’s so boring and distracts from what’s really going on. Will there be any other students coming this evening, professor?”

“Just one; I’ll be giving her private lessons later in the evening.”

He sauntered away from her and locked the door to his chambers, which made him conveniently stand right in front of the threshold to his bedroom.

Eleanora’s eyes lit up.

“…The young Master won’t be happy with us…”

“He’ll be fine; he’s interviewing the other students in his class for information.”

“So he won’t be back here for a few hours?”

“He might not come here at all; it’s almost lights-out…”

“How convenient…It would almost be a crime not to make use of all this free time…”

“The lesson would really only last an hour or two—three at most; maybe four if the pupil refuses to learn a thing or two…”

Eleanora stared at him and he stared back.

“You can leave on the robe, the spectacles, and that cross-thing on your neck,” she said.

“Deal,” he said.

Whether she lunged at him or he lunged at her is presently unknown; it doesn’t matter anyway, as they both ended up on the same bed in the end.


	107. Chapter 107

Ciel didn’t go to sleep; he was too occupied with planning. He waited until everyone else in the dormitory had fallen asleep before getting up and sneaking off to Sebastian’s quarters. He knew that the butler wouldn’t be asleep—he was always much too busy with more important things than sleeping.

He quietly entered the chambers and discovered that all of the lights had been turned out—except for the one in the bedroom. Ciel wondered what was so fascinating in there—he had peeked inside, and all that had been in there were the bed and a wardrobe. All of the notes about the school were in the outside room.

“Sebastian? Hello? What are you doing?” He knocked on the bedroom door—no answer. He tried the door and it was locked, which clearly meant that whoever was inside wanted to be interrupted.

“OY! SEBASTIAN!”

There was a thumping noise, as if a person fell down.

“OW!”

And then a woman saying,

“Are you okay?”

“Fine; fine; fine; don’t get up…Did you hear something?”

“...No…It’s kind of hard to hear anything over the moaning.”

“I sincerely hope that you’re referring to yourself. I never moan.”

“Well, then, why don’t you come up here again and double-check?”

Then Ciel heard some kind of demonic purring noise.

“SE-BAAAS-TIAN!”

There were several more crashing sounds and then the door was suddenly flung open, revealing a very slipshod Sebastian.

“Young Master!” he said in a too-bright voice. “I thought that you were asleep…”

“I came to talk to you about Maurice. Did Eleanora discover anything?”

“Yes!” the woman, who was still in the room, said.

“…Why is Eleanora in your room? And at this hour!” Ciel gave his butler a look; Sebastian looked away and coughed. “What have you two been doing?”

“We’ve…been…” Sebastian trailed off, mostly because he could hear his wife running around his bedroom, searching for her clothes. “We were…uh…How to put this delicately…”

“We were just studying in-depth human-demon anatomical and biological intercourses,” Eleanora said, leaving the room. She had given up on searching for all of her things and had just put on the professor robe. It was several sizes too big for her, so it did a fairly good job in covering her up. She smiled at the young Master, who was staring at them suspiciously.

“…In-depth human/demon anatomical and biological intercourses?”

“Yes,” Sebastian said, grateful that it technically wasn’t a lie. “Very in-depth.”

Ciel had spent the past several hours learning about anatomy and biology and he wasn’t interested in learning about any more. So he dropped the subject and instead asked Eleanora what she had learned about the school.

She hadn’t found any trace of the vanished boy, but she did, however, find some very interesting things about Maurice Cole. Ciel almost couldn’t believe what she told him—almost. If it was true…

The rest of the evening was spent making plans. Tomorrow, Maurice Cole’s Reign of Beautiful Terror would end. And then…

Well, Ciel didn’t really want to think about what would happen then at the moment. It was late and he was tired—one plan was enough for the night.

He said goodnight to his servants and left. As he was walking down the hallway, he suddenly remembered something that he had wanted to tell his butler for hours.

“Oh, by the way, Sebas…”

Ciel opened the door, right in time to see his butler and maid kissing each other. He had been gone for less than a minute, and already they were—the best term for it would be “making out.”

“WHAT are you two DOING?!”

Eleanora shrieked and pushed the butler away from her.

“My LORD!” Sebastian said. “What are you—Why are you—”

“Please pardon us, my Lord,” Eleanora said, because, like most women, she was able to recover quickly and immediately commence damage control after she realized that she had messed up. “Is there anything else?”

“Er…Yes,” and he told Sebastian what he had come to say. He was just about to scamper off when he paused at the door and looked at them. Eleanora was playing with her hair, trying to gracefully pass off her embarrassment, while Sebastian just looked humiliated and a touch murderous. “You two…This…isn’t going to become a regular thing, right? I mean…this isn’t going to become a real problem, right?”

“My Lord!” Eleanora said. “Perish the thought.”

“Well, see that it doesn’t,” Ciel said. “Remember always that you are my servants.”

“Yes my Lord,” both servants chirruped and Ciel quickly left the room, blushing a bit at seeing such an intimate act.

Sebastian counted down a minute, just to make sure that the young Master wouldn’t be returning, before turning to Eleanora.

“Well?” he said, cuddling closer to her. “Shall we continue where we left off?”

“No. I am not getting into trouble again.”

“Oh, we won’t get into trouble…And we were having such fun…”

“But I’m tiiired…” Eleanora sighed. “Let’s just call it quits and a night.”

There are few things more persistent than a man who wants to study intercourses. There are few things more stubborn than a woman who doesn’t want to give them. And, as is usually the case with married couples, the woman won.

But Sebastian didn’t go to bed too disappointed. Eleanora made it up to him by giving him a big kiss on the lips. And normally he wouldn’t have thought that a mere kiss was anything special, but this time…This time, she initiated it herself, with no pleading or asking on his part. This time, it almost seemed genuine…As if she wanted to kiss him herself.


	108. Chapter 108

The Maurice plan went off almost without a hitch. Sure, there had been a moment or two where Ciel had thought that he was going to die, but it had all been worth it in the end. Maurice had been properly humiliated—reputation in ruins; all alone and friendless…Everything was going perfectly.

Except for Sebastian and Eleanora, that is.

Fine, he admitted it: he liked Eleanora. She was a good maid. And, like all good employers, he wanted his servants to be happy and have their happy endings. If she had chosen Drocell, he would have supported her 100%. He might have even paid for the wedding. But it was different with Sebastian. It was kind of hard to support a demon who was going to eat one’s soul. Ciel didn’t want to wish Sebastian a happy, fairy-tale ending—truth be told, he actually wanted him to suffer. He usually accomplished this in petty ways, like banning cats from the mansion. But Eleanora was bigger than a cat—better, probably. If he could somehow manage to distance her from Sebastian, even for just a while longer; make that butler be in agonies for just a bit more…

He didn’t care if wanting his butler miserable made him a horrible person. His butler was going to kill him, after all—eventually. Was it really so bad to want one’s murderer to be unhappy for several years? After all, after Ciel was gone, he would have an eternity of happiness with his wife. Besides, if he made it a bit more difficult to achieve his “happily-ever-after,” he would enjoy it more when he had finally achieved it. Ciel was doing him a favor.

But aside from desiring his butler’s unhappiness, Eleanora and Sebastian were a problem because now that she was finding him attractive, he had decided that she was the most important thing in the school, which she most certainly was not. They had a mission! The Queen’s priorities were their priorities, and Sebastian was blatantly ignoring that!

The worst part about having an unholy butler pretend to be a teacher is that being the perfect teacher really brings out the best in a demon. He was kind to the students. He was knowledgeable and intelligent. He was respectful and pleasant to the other staff. And he, apparently, looked “damned sexy” in his professor outfit (Eleanora’s quote, not his’).

Rather than seeing the big jerk demon she was married to, Eleanora was actually starting to see his good sides. And she liked them. And Sebastian liked being liked. And what did all that add up to?

It meant that every time they had a moment alone together, they would start kissing. And if they had several hours alone together, they would go into his bedroom and lock the door. Ciel didn’t know what could possibly occupy them in one room for so long, but it involved a lot of moaning and the occasional giggle.

But he was digressing. The point was that they were being obnoxiously lovey-dovey and it was interfering with their mission.

He couldn’t help but blame himself. He really should have tried to push Eleanora into Drocell’s arms more. Maybe he could’ve dropped some really-obvious hints, like, “I’ll pay you if you divorce Sebastian.” Or was that too subtle?

Phase 1 of the Big Plan had been successfully completed. The second Phase involved some kind of cricket game. Ciel had never had much of an interest in cricket, but he did like games! That is, he simply adored winning games. The problem was, he wasn’t so sure that he could win this game if his two servants were too busy cooing over each other instead of fussing over him, which was naturally the right honest way.

Speaking of rightful honesty, Ciel was actually a bit nervous about the game. He would have never admitted it to anyone, of course—except for Eleanora.

They were wandering around the school grounds and he was quietly confessing to her all of his inhibitions. She, being the excellent maid that she was, was listening quietly and sincerely to him and occasionally offering him a bit of noncommittal advice. Ciel was actually starting to feel a bit better about things…and then they strolled past the butler, who smiled and winked at her. She smiled and looked away. That was bad enough, but she was also blushing. Eleanora never blushed! She swore and she threatened and she hated and she did not blush.

Seeing such an uncharacteristic action made Ciel rather upset. They were talking about his problems. And then that damned butler just went and ruined it! Just like that! Unforgivable. And Eleanora was actually allowing him to ruin it! She was actually allowing herself to fall in love! No, no, no; this wouldn’t do at all. As her employer, he had a duty to make sure that she didn’t compromise her values and inadvertently ruin her life.

“For goodness sakes, Eleanora!” he blurted out. “What about Drocell? Don’t you ever think about him? I thought that you loved him! Remember that? Don’t you love Drocell and hate Sebastian?”

Eleanora was about to answer him when what he was really saying fully hit her. Her face turned stricken and tragic. Ciel almost felt sorry for her—almost.

But he was her employer, and it was his duty to help her reach her happily ever after—her true happily ever after, even if it meant ruining a demon’s happy ending.


	109. Chapter 109

Sebastian had no idea what was wrong, or what had happened. Everything had been just perfect in the morning—he had woken up next to Eleanora, who had smiled and had allowed him to kiss her neck, and now, in the evening, she was acting as if he didn’t exist.

Naturally he knew immediately who had turned her against him. He desperately wanted to confront the young Master and demand to know what he had said to her, but that was unprofessional. Besides, if he wanted to know what was wrong, he would have to go straight to the source. That’s what his mother always said…Then again, Jean had told him that if he had to ask a woman what was wrong, he was already in big trouble.

He decided to go with his mother on this one. After all, she was a woman, so she probably knew best on how to deal with women. And his father’s best advice usually revolved around food and sex, not really “talking out feelings.”

It was lights-out and all of the students were sent to bed, which meant that the young Master wouldn’t be able to sneak away for about another half-hour. The perfect time to have a nice, deep, earnest conversation with his wife about her problems.

He was dreading it already.

She was sitting on the couch, staring off into space. She didn’t move when he sat down next to her and was only startled out of her thoughts when he wrapped his arms around her.

“Sweetness,” he whispered and kissed her hand. “Is something bothering you?”

“No,” she said, blatantly lying.

Rose at this point would have said to leave it alone for a while and wait for her to talk. Jean would have said to keep going and wring it out of her. Sebastian, in his defense, tried to do what his mother would have done, lasted for half a millisecond, and chose Jean’s route.

“Really? Are you sure?”

“Positive,” Eleanora said, in a tone which clearly said, “shut up or die.”

Now Rose would’ve said for him to run. But Jean would have told him to keep going; he was doing so well!

“It’s just that…you’re so quiet…”

“God, just leave me alone!”

Sebastian fell silent and Eleanora was allowed to continue her thinking without conversationalist interruptions. After a while, she started to feel a bit guilty for snapping. She turned to him; he smiled.

“I’m sorry,” she said, leaning back into him. “I’m sorry…It’s just that…Well…You know…”

“Quite all right,” he said, cuddling her closer. “Don’t worry about it.”

Mmm, she smelled niiice…He resisted the urge to lick her cheek. While he was positive that she tasted as good as she smelled, he was also pretty sure that she wouldn’t appreciate such a gesture which bordered on the perverted.

“I’ve just been…thinking…”

“About what?”

“About nothing,” she said and Sebastian thought that he had messed up again when she said, “Do you love me?”

“Darling, do you really doubt it?”

“It’s a simple question which requires a simple yes-or-no answer.” The look she gave him meant, “I’m not in the mood for your romantic smart-assery.”

“Suppose I do,” Sebastian said, nestling his head into her neck. “What will you do then?”

“How much?”

“I…beg your pardon?”

“I said, how much do you love me?”

“Oh-h-h…” he said, his mind straining for an accurate, but inoffensive, unit of measurement. “A…lot?”

“What?”

“Yes, a lot!”

Eleanora stared at him, as if that was an unsatisfactory answer.

“A…a lot, a lot?”

“But how much?”

“I just told you: a lot.”

“How much is a ‘lot?’”

“I don’t know, but it’s a lot.” She was still giving him that look. “It’s…a…very, really, muchly…lot?”

“I see,” she sighed and turned away from him. He continued holding her, wondering if he had successfully answered her question. “How much do you think Drocell loves me?”

“Not a lot at all,” he answered immediately. “I’m sure that he forgot all about you.”  
This technically wasn’t a lie—if he didn’t know something, he couldn’t really lie about it, now could he?

“You think so?”

“I do.”

“I don’t.”

He couldn’t restrain a small, frustrated “tsk!” noise, which only made Eleanora glare up at him again.

“…Do you have a problem with that?”

Unfortunately, saying “no” would be a lie; he was forced to resort to another smile.

“Darling, why are you worrying about him now?” he asked. “He’s with his Earl now. I’m sure that he’s very happy. And you’re happy too, right?”

‘Please be happy, please be happy, please be happy, please…Please say that you’re happy with me!’

“I don’t know,” she said. “At first I thought that I was, but whenever I think of Drocell…”

“The solution, dearest, is to not think of him at all.”

“It’s not that easy. You can’t just turn your thoughts off and on like a faucet. If you were told to never think about me again, would you really be able to do it?”

“Of course not. I think about you all the time. Even when I’m sleeping, you’re still present in my dreams.”

She gave him another of those not-in-the-mood looks. 

“I don’t know,” she finally said. “I just…I just feel so guilty…I mean, I am happy, but when I think about him…Am I being disloyal to him? I had told him that I loved him…And here I am! Screwing another man out of what little brains he has left…Do you think…Do you think that this is alright? That I…That I’m not being unfaithful?”

“Sweetheart, you chose me over him. Of course you would want to scr—that is, be with the man who you’ve chosen to be with. I’m sure that he doesn’t mind.”

“R-Really? Truly?”

“If he really loves you,” Sebastian said, “or if he had ever loved you in the past, he would want you to be happy.”

“Really?”

“Certainly. I mean, I know that, if you had chosen him over me, I would have still wished for your happiness.” ‘I might have also wished for his complete and utter annihilation, but…’ “I’m sure that he feels the same way.” He smiled down at her; she still didn’t look convinced. “Eleanora,” he said gently, “what’s so unfaithful in wanting to be happy?”

Eleanora sat up and faced him, but she didn’t speak. He waited patiently.

“…That’s odd,” she said. “You actually managed to make me feel better. Huh.”

“I do my best.”

He leaned in for a kiss, but she pulled away from him.

“N-No…Not tonight…Not right now. I don’t think…that I can do it tonight.”

“That’s fine. But whenever you want to…” he tapped his lips, “I’ll be ready and eager to oblige.”

She didn’t look sure.

“Eleanora,” he said, “you know that all I’ve ever wanted is your happiness.”

She smiled a bit at this. And then Ciel entered.

“Finally!” he sighed. “Do you know how hard it is to sneak around at night? What are you two doing?”

“Just talking, my Lord,” Eleanora said.

“Really? Just talking?”

“Of course. What else would we be doing?”

Ciel scowled, but he couldn’t protest. They were just sitting across from each other on a couch. He had heard them talking before he had come in. They weren’t even touching.

“Fine,” he sighed and sat down across from them. Sebastian immediately rose up to prepare tea. “So, then, about this cricket game…”

“Actually, I’ve had some ideas about that,” Eleanora said.

She didn’t mind being interrupted in her heart-to-heart conversation with the butler. Plotting evil schemes was always a good way to keep one’s mind off of things.


	110. Chapter 110

Eleanora loved sabotage. It was one of the few things which she was sure that she was good at.

The best part about sabotaging other teams to win a cricket game was that it helped keep her occupied. Her mind was so busy scheming and plotting that she didn’t have much time to think about Drocell Vs. Sebastian: Round Two.

Unfortunately, she could only really plot and plan during the day. At night, she had to lie down and try to go to sleep, and that was when she had plenty of time and energy to think.

And think.

And think.

And feel so guilty she almost wanted to die.

And think.

And think.

And THINK.

She had a hotel reservation, but she canceled it once she got a good look at her spouse, the professor. Now she just slept in the same bed with him, which was fine, if only he wasn’t so hot. And that was “hot” in a bad way; he had a horrible habit of rolling over and trying to hug her in his sleep, and he had the body temperature of a sauna.

Aside from his unnatural heat, Eleanora didn’t like sleeping in the same bed with him because looking at him returned the guilt tenfold. She would just roll over and look at him and feel guilty. He was so different from Drocell…He was handsome, but it was a cold, statuesque kind of beauty. Drocell had been a doll, but even he had seemed more human than Sebastian. Sometimes she was sure that she hated him. Sometimes she wished that she had died before she could marry him. That or have not survived the zombie cruise ship. Then all of her problems would have been solved. He would have been happy and she would’ve been happy, and they could’ve gone on their merry ways hating each other till the end of time.

But then, sometimes he would wake up and notice her looking and he would smile and kiss her cheek and ask her if she was okay. If she said that she wasn’t, he would get up, no matter the hour, and bring her some tea. If she said that she was, he would kiss her again and lie back down, still staring at her, still smiling; and he wouldn’t close his eyes again until she had lain down next to him and had closed them first. Whenever he did that, she didn’t feel as if she hated him. She almost felt as if she liked him—as in, really liked him.

But then she would remember Drocell again, and the guilt returned.

Sebastian tried to be understanding. He tried not to rush her and tried to be patient, only it was a bit hard for him to understand why she was feeling so bad about dumping the doll-freak. He was never sad to dispose of a piece of garbage. But he knew that she wouldn’t have liked to hear that, so he just stayed quiet.

Ciel felt a bit sorry for her, but then again, if she was going through emotional turmoil, it made her more focused in her work. The big cricket game was just several days away, and they were still unprepared!

Eleanora had finished planning the latest sabotage and had just sat back in her seat, wondering what else to do. She had other plans, but those required the young Master’s approval, and he was busy at the moment. She glanced out the window, where Ciel was trying to throw a cricket ball at Sebastian and failing miserably. They wouldn’t be done for about another three hours or so—the butler could be rather tough at times.

But what else was there for her to do? Except for think about Drocell and feel guilty, of course, but she didn’t want to do it.

…Aaand she was doing it.

This was ridiculous. She couldn’t spend the rest of her life like this! She needed help. She glanced out the window again—not the young Master; he was too young and knew absolutely nothing of love. Not the butler either; he was a good actor, but she could tell that he wasn’t going to encourage her to run back to Drocell, even if it was the right decision. And there was nobody else in the school that could help her…Everyone was just a dumber version of Ciel Phantomhive.

No, she needed a woman’s help. And at the moment, only one woman was coming to mind.

There was a telephone in the butler’s quarters; she got out her pocketbook, found the number, and hesitantly dialed it.

There was silence, and then a woman said,

“Michaeras domos; qui est hae?”

“H-Hello?” Eleanora said. “Is…Is Rose there?”

“Eleanora! Of course I’m here! What is it? What’s going on? Oh, it’s so nice to hear you again! Hold on a moment; let me get Jean; he’ll be so happy!”

“I, uh…Actually, I just wanted to talk to you right now…I need some advice.”

“Well then! Sit down, get comfortable; tell me what’s on your mind!”

“But…We’re talking on the telephone…”

“Doesn’t mean we can’t sit and be comfortable! Oh, I wish that you were here…I would’ve made some cookies! How’s my darling baby boy, by the way? Is he eating well?”

“He’s fine…”

“Tell him to eat more! I’m sure he looks like a skeleton by now! Maybe I should send something over…What do you think? Brownies or cake?”

Eleanora bit her lip to try to keep herself from laughing.

“Maybe both,” Rose mused to herself. “And I’ll also add a sausage or two. A growing boy needs his protein, after all! Now how many pies should I pack?”

“Actually, Rose…”

“Oh! Of course! I’m terribly sorry; I got distracted! What’s on your mind, love?”

“Suppose,” Eleanora hesitated again. How does one explain to the mother-in-law that you’re in love with a man other than her son? “Suppose you have two men, and both of them have their equal flaws and strengths. Which one would you choose?”

Rose was silent. Eleanora bit her lip, wondering if she was angry. But when she spoke next, her voice was just as kind and as friendly as ever.

“Back in my beauty queen days—back when I still competed, I mean—I had many, many suitors, some of which were rather desirable. Kind, handsome, rich demons…But I, of course, could only pick one. At the time, as you probably know, the Michaelis was the second most-powerful family in Hell, and the Elengedes—my family—was the third most-powerful. There was talk of uniting the two families through marriage, and I was the only candidate. And Jean…Well, you remember Jean. He’s brash and loud and moody and quick-tempered…but he’s also the most affectionate man I have ever met in my life. He’s loving and loyal and he would do anything to make the people he loves happy—even let them go, if they want to be released. Lots of people think that Sebastian just inherited his looks and little else, but that’s not so. He also inherited his rashness and his temper, and his adoring heart.”

Eleanora glanced out the window again; the Earl was chasing after the cricket ball while the butler looked on in irritation. Then he looked up, noticed her, and smiled. She went back to the phone.

“In the end,” Rose continued, “I chose to marry Jean. It was the best option, and, in the end, he was the best man.”

“So…Your advice would be…?”

“Jean made me happy,” Rose said. “He loved me. The other suitors, while charming and polite, didn’t make me feel as loved as he did. So, my advice would be to choose the man who loves you beyond anything and everything—the one who would do anything for your happiness.”

They talked for another hour after that. When they were finished, Eleanora sat and thought about Rose’s words. Choose the man who would do anything for your happiness? But they both would have done anything for her happiness. Drocell said so, and Sebastian…

Sebastian actually did so.

This was a new thought entirely. Eleanora looked out the window, where another child was joining the Earl and Sebastian. Drocell had said that he would make her happy, but then he had left for his Earl. And Sebastian?

Sebastian had given her painkillers after he had forced the contract on her. When she had fallen asleep on him, he had put his coat over her. He had looked after her, even when he had been “murdered.” He had been patient when she had been afraid of him. When she had gotten sick at his parents’ house, he had taken care of her. He had fought for her on that cruise ship. He had forgiven her, even when she had screwed up big time. He had always waited for her, even when she wasn’t sure about her feelings. He hadn’t minded her worries or her insecurities or her always blowing hot and cold…

Drocell had said a lot of pretty things. But Sebastian had always acted on them.

She looked out at the scene again. Now both children were running after their cricket balls and Sebastian was looking even more annoyed. But he still noticed her, and just seeing her made him smile and made all of his irritation disappear.

“He’s a nice man,” Eleanora thought. “He’s very sweet—in his weird, demonic way. He’ll make some lucky woman very happy…”

“Oh shit,” she realized, “I’M that lucky woman.”

“Oh SHIT,” she realized again, “I think that I…that I…”

When Sebastian came back to his room later that evening, he was extraordinarily pleased to find that Eleanora was back to normal—her little regret about Drocell had completely passed.


	111. Chapter 111

Cricket is an ancient and noble game, so ancient and noble and beloved that it would be completely and absolutely unnecessary to go over any of the rules whatsoever, as everyone in the whole entire world knows everything there is to know about cricket.

Even Ciel knew a thing or two about cricket, which really should give one an indication as to the great and gloriousness of the sport. Ciel was the direct opposite of “athletic” and had essentially negative interest in anything that involved running around and getting all sweaty. But it was he who had to teach Sebastian about the sport—before he came to the school, the butler had thought that “cricket” was just a little jumping, chirping insect that made both young Masters and callous wives scream in high C.

The first two teams playing were Red House—consisting entirely of the pretty boys of the school—and Blue House—Ciel’s team. He sat on the sidelines and quietly watched his house fail miserably for two hours, and then there was a tea break. He actually did more during that so-called “break” than during the actual play, as he had to convince his team members to not give up. Quite a lot of them were getting discouraged, but Ciel knew that the fight hadn’t even started. Red House wasn’t a threat—not after his servants were done with them.

Sebastian—that is, Professor Michaelis—had vanished several minutes before the tea break and Eleanora had disappeared from her spot in the stands. But Ciel wasn’t worried: he knew exactly where they were.

At the moment, Sebastian was just finishing making a pie and Eleanora was just finishing watching him making the pie with worry, playing with the buttons on her big coat.

“Are you sure about putting it all in?” she asked as he moved by her. “I got the most powerful laxative in the drug store—that stuff could kill you.”

“Don’t worry,” he assured her. “Little boys are very resilient, particularly in the lower areas. I’m sure that they’ll all be just fine.”

He snuck outside, quickly swapped the meat pies on the Red House table, and went back to Eleanora so that she could help him change back into his professor outfit. Not that he really needed assistance, of course; she just liked turning him into a professor and he liked whatever she liked, particularly when it involved a bit of kissing.

He arrived back on the field just in time to see all of the members of the Red House cricket team falling down to the ground, clutching their stomachs in pain.

The first team had forfeited. Blue House had won.

The second match was between Green House and Purple House—between the jocks and the school weirdos, essentially. Naturally the jocks won, and after another quick break, it was time for the final fight between Green House and Blue House. This was the big one—this was the one that Ciel had spent all those weeks preparing for.

He had several lines of defense to ensure a victory. Sebastian was Stage One. He quickly looked over at his butler, who was already warming up the school orchestra.

The idea was as follows: one could theoretically hit the ball if one swung the bat—hypothetically, any swing could hit any ball, as long as the ball was within certain limits. All the batter had to do was swing, and there was a good chance that the bat would hit the ball.

Hence the orchestra. Ciel knew that his nonathletic teammates would panic about hitting the ball at the right time, so he decided to skip all the stress and tell them to just hit the ball on a certain musical signal: the crashing of the cymbals.

It worked very well for quite some time, and then Ciel spotted the principal—the source of their information; the one that could solve the Queen’s mystery for them.

He looked pointedly over at Sebastian, who nodded and fled the orchestra to give pursuit. As expected, the Blue House team immediately started failing without their musical cue.

But winning a game wasn’t just about making your team win: it was also about making the other team lose. And that’s where Stage Two: Eleanora came in.

As soon as she saw the butler run off in pursuit of the principal, she sauntered over to the orchestra and gave the boys her best smile, fanning herself a bit with her hand.

“Excuuuse me,” she purred, “but it’s so hot out here and I’m feeling a little faint…Would you kindly allow me to sit here, in the shade?”

The musicians had no objections, so Eleanora got one of their chairs and sat a bit aways from them, waiting for the song they were currently playing to end.

Sebastian had quickly forced responsibility on another student, who was now panicking a bit as the orchestra finished their song. But luckily, Mr. Michaelis had left another piece of music out for them to play. The student made sure that all of the instruments were on the same page, and then he started them up.

This song was…different from the other songs. It was…louder. Gaudier, somehow. The musicians were so focused on the oddness of the song that they didn’t even notice that Eleanora had taken off her coat, revealing a much more revealing outfit, and had started to dance.

In her youth, she had been occasionally forced to resort to dancing at the seediest of taverns. Burlesque had paid the bills, and she still knew a couple of the dances. This one involved a chair and a damned lot of legs, both of which she luckily had.

Most of the people on the Blue House team did not have very good eyesight, and so they were unaffected by her dance. Unfortunately for the Green House, they were not.

Sebastian had to force himself not to look. Eleanora had demonstrated her dancing skills to them beforehand, and he had almost died. The young Master had been unaffected—probably because he was too young, and so didn’t understand the limitless appeal of chest, legs, and suggestive hip-moving.

Stage Two was just a temporary defense. A young woman winking and blowing kisses at a bunch of student cricketers didn’t go unnoticed for very long. Soon Eleanora was being told to leave the field, which she did regretfully, with one last kiss to the last batter, who missed the ball completely from shock and embarrassment.

Stage One had been about swinging the bat, thus hitting the ball. Stage Three was about not swinging the bat, therefore hitting the ball. This was accomplished by strategically placing the bat on the ground in front of the wickets. In this way, they were able to secure a couple more points—or at least not allowing the other team to get more points—until Sebastian returned, looking very disappointed.

The principal had disappeared right under his fingers. He had no idea where he was or what he was doing, but for now, all he could do was go back to the game. He wasn’t very happy with himself, but Eleanora was still wearing her little costume, and a couple of kisses quickly revived his previous good mood.

People were starting to get bored with the whole bat-in-front-of-the-wickets gimmick. Ciel was getting tired as well—he wanted it all to be done with, already. And so they went on to Stage Four.

Stage Four, like the other Stages, was genius in its simplicity. All he had to do was make all of his teammates stand around the batter, and then throw the ball in that extra-special way which he had spent thousands of agonizing hours practicing, aiming the ball for the batter’s face. The batter would defend himself with the bat, and the other teammates would catch it, resulting in an out.

And this went on for some time until the audience grew restless and started questioning the fairness of his tactics. The show must go on, and it was high time to finish this sporting nonsense. So then the Blue House prefect stepped up: Stage Five of the plan.

The prefect, like Ciel, had spent countless hours practicing throwing the ball a certain way. Only, unlike Ciel’s ball, which aimed for the batter’s face, the prefect’s ball aimed for the wickets. They were able to get one more out in this way, but Green House was still ahead…

One more ball. One more ball to throw, to decide everything, to decide either victory or defeat for the Blue House…The prefect prepared himself, threw the ball with all of his might, the batter prepared to swing; everyone was holding their breaths…

And the batter swung straight into Ciel Phantomhive’s head.

He was nothing but a perfect gentleman; as soon as he realized that he had accidentally hurt someone, he immediately whirled around, asking if he was okay, but Ciel ignored him completely. He grabbed the ball, which had conveniently landed near him, and threw it at the wickets.

They crashed to the ground. Blue House had won.

The crowd went wild; the Blue House ran out to meet Ciel and cheer and scream and Eleanora was on the sidelines, politely clapping, while Sebastian ran out to attend to his injured Master. They passed by the maid on the way to the infirmary, where all three of them shared a secret smile. Stage Six: give the prefect a lighter ball, thus slightly changing the angle of everything, and ensuring a Blue House victory.

Just as planned.


	112. Chapter 112

The cricket tournament was always followed by a magnificent boat parade, where the winning team was parading around in front of the Queen. It was quite the honor, and Ciel probably would have looked forward to it if it wasn’t on a boat. He had never been particularly fond of boats, and the incident on the cruise ship hadn’t increased his affection. Perhaps the ship experience had traumatized him for life, and he would forever be cursed with the irrational fear of boats and other water-based methods of transportation?

But no. He didn’t feel a surge of panic upon seeing the little boat, bobbing a bit in the water. He got onto the thing just fine and didn’t want to jump off when his teammates set off and started rowing towards Windsor. Then again, maybe he didn’t want to jump off because he couldn’t swim.

Eleanora wasn’t present at the actual parade. The butler had had to leave a bit early because of some problem with the young Master’s wardrobe, and he had left her a little note asking her to meet him on a little hill, overlooking the Thames. They could watch the ceremony from there and miss all the crowds and earsplitting cheering.

He was waiting for her when she arrived. He had spread out a little moonlit picnic and kissed her hand when she approached him. He poured out some of his special nonalcoholic unholy wine and they made several toasts: to the successful cricket victory, to sexy professor costumes, to the fact that the young Master was several kilometers away from them on a boat.

It was a beautiful night. Eleanora sighed and rested her head on Sebastian’s shoulder; he sat back and kissed her head. She looked up at him and smiled; he smiled back and thought about how lovely she was, her eyes sparkling in the moonlight. He thought about how lucky he was to be bound to such a gem for all eternity. He felt his heart swelling up with a wonderfully warm feeling, a feeling which he had come to recognize whenever he was with her.

“Eleanora,” he said, cuddling her closer to him, “I love you.” He paused, considering. “I never, in all of my years, thought that I would say that to a human.”

Eleanora’s smile slowly disappeared. But his smile just widened.

“You don’t have to say anything right now,” he said. “I just wanted you to know that, I do love you. I love you more than I have ever loved anything or anyone. And you don’t have to say it back to me right now. I don’t mind if you’re still confused or even if you still hate me—I know that you’ll say it eventually. And I can wait until you’re ready to love me back. And even if you’ll never be ready, I’ll still be waiting.” He beamed at her, wondering what she would say.

Eleanora was silent for a time. Then she glared up at him.

“Now, isn’t that just like you?” she scowled. “You just always have to play the hero. You’ll wait forever for your cute little damsel in distress, is that right? Even if I never return your feelings, is that it?”

“Well…Yes.” He gave her a confused smile. “Is…Is that a problem?”

“Damn right it’s a problem! Why are you always so arrogant? You just go around assuming things about people, and then you say the most idiotic of things. What if I’ve been ready for several days now? What if I’ve been ready for hours? What if I’m ready right now? What will you do then?”

“Are you ready? Really?” He grabbed her hands and stared deep into her eyes. “Really?”

Eleanora scoffed and looked away.

“Of course I am,” she said, and he could see that she was blushing, despite making every effort to hide it.

“Then say it,” he said huskily. “Please say it now—if you’re truly ready.”

“I’m not going to scream it out to the world, if that’s what you’re waiting for.”

“Then whisper it.”

“First turn around and close your eyes.”

He did so. He felt her hand nervously clenching over his’. Then he felt her breath tickle his ear as she breathed,

“I—love—you.”

She then released his hand and looked away again, blushing even more furiously than before.

“Do you mean it?” he asked, gazing at her seriously. “Do you really mean it?”

“If I didn’t mean it, would I have said it? You just can’t lie about shit like that, you know.”

“So…You love me?”

“I already said that I did, didn’t I? Or have you gone deaf in your demonic old age?”

“Oh, Eleanora,” he whispered. He pulled her closer and she didn’t resist; she smiled up at him again and they kissed. “Eleanora, I love you so much…”

“I know,” she said quietly. “I love you too…”

They were so engrossed in another kiss that they didn’t even hear the screams as the boat on the Thames rolled over, or the laughter that followed the scene. They didn’t see the young Master grab the side of the overturned boat and haul himself partially out of the water, spluttering. They didn’t hear and they didn’t notice and they didn’t care.

But Ciel noticed. After he had finished coughing, he had looked around at the crowd, wondering where his butler was and why wasn’t he coming to help him, or at least prepare to. And then he noticed Sebastian and Eleanora sitting in the distance, their kiss illuminated by the fireworks which lit up the sky.

“Oh,” Ciel thought as he stared at them. “Isn’t that nice?”

This idea was quickly overthrown by another, far more urgent one:

“Grell is going to kill her.”

THE END


End file.
